


Arms

by eqh27



Category: Kickthestickz, Phan
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward First Times, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Teenagers, Drawing, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pastel Dan and Punk Phil, Phan - Freeform, Phanfiction, Punk, Punk Phil, Shy Dan, Slice of Life, Slow Build, pastel, phil is low key an asshole in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2516837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqh27/pseuds/eqh27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan draws, Phil doesn't.<br/>Phil wears black shirts, speaks loudly, and glares at everyone.<br/>Dan wears grey jumpers, doesn't talk, and tries to stay invisible.<br/>Phil's reckless, Dan's not.<br/>This is as story about two polar opposites who mange to have a string of first times together, and maybe even a cute love story. </p><p>Rating/ Warnings: M (mature readers). This story may contain topics of depression and smut. Trigger warnings. Also may contain gay slurs. </p><p>Copyright © 2014. strawb3rryvib3s<br/>All Rights Reserved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Dan

Chapter One: Dan-

 

You really haven’t experienced proper fear until your math teacher is holding your life in their sweaty, wrinkly, old hands.. My life- or as so called- took the form of a heavily worn sketchbook- the one I had been drawing in only moments ago, when I was supposed to factoring the missing side of an isosceles triangle. Then, before I knew it, my book was being snatched out from under my hands by Ms. Lewis’ pudgy fingers.

A string of select swear words raced by my mind as I considered all the possibilities of how this could go horribly wrong. Always the optimist, I know.

She could flip through it, which would probably be the worst scenario. I loved life drawing, which meant I frequently drew people from school either during class or when I was all alone at lunch, often while they weren’t looking. I also would take some, um, _artistic licensing_ , to put it delicately. Let’s just say, I don’t think Ms. Lewis would be too happy to find some of her students in a few of the compromising positions I’d drawn them in. Not to mention, if anyone, especially a teacher, saw my drawings I would be completely mortified. They were almost like my diary except- you know- _more manly._

Luckily, Ms. Lewis just tutted me and gave me what I assumed was suppose to be a withering look- though it really only looked like she’d smelled something particularly unpleasant- before carting my life away with her, and nestling it atop her chaotic desk.

I sighed, folded my arms on my table, and rested my head on top of them, as Ms. Sketchbook Stealer continued on with the lesson.

“To find the side of ‘x’ on this triangle you have to use the Pythagorean Theorem. If side ‘a’ is twenty-four, and side ‘b’ is seven, you would make an equation that read: 24² + 7² = c. Then you would solve for ‘c’ by adding the sum of ‘a’ and the sum of ‘b’ together therefore answering the sum of-”

My eyes had begun to glaze over when the phone interrupted her almost painfully boring speech.

“Hello?” Ms. Lewis said gruffly into the receiver. A chorus of “uh huh”’s followed, before she hung up, mumbled an nearly unintelligible “be right back”, and left the room.

There was a quiet murmuring that spread across the classroom like a contagious fog, everyone using this time to pull out their phones in the absence of our teacher. I debated on whether I wanted to risk the chance of me getting caught by stealing back my sketchbook, but before I could decide-

“Hey mate! How’s it going?”

I felt someone pat shoulder, but not in a friendly sort of way. This was more of a “you’re- beneath-me-because-I’m-a-fucking-neanderthal-and-have-the-brain-capacity-of-a-teaspoon-and-am-the-size-of-a-freaking-truck-so-you’d-better-do-what-I-say” kind of pat. I winced at the aggressive touch and looked up at the leering face of Logan Marters.

Now to be quite honest there were only three things in this whole wide world that truly scared me- Logan Marters and his equally thick headed friend, Eli Stan- were two of them. I’d heard stories of them beating up freshmen in the third floor boys bathroom because the younger boys had _looked at them funny_. So far I’d managed to stay out of their way, but in the past week they’d started to take a certain interest in me- just my luck. Whether it was my shy demeanor, or my weird fascination with sketching every person I saw, or that I never spoke, not one word, I couldn’t decide.

“How’s it going poof?” Eli said, stepping up to the other side of me. I looked from one to the other, looked down at my desk, and swallowed hard. _Shit._

“We couldn’t help but notice that book you were carrying around, twinky,” Logan said, his warm breath ghosting over the back of my neck making me shiver in fear and disgust. _Fuck, I was_ so _screwed_ , I thought.

“I wonder,” Logan continued a bit louder, wandering towards Ms. Lewis’ desk and grabbing the attention of some stray classmates. “What could possibly be so much more interesting-” Logan took a couple more steps closer to her desk. _Step, step_. “- in this book-” _Step, step_. “- than class?”

He was right behind her desk now, _right there_ , hands hovering over what would be my most certain death. I could feel Eli’s left hand gripping the back of my chair, a solid reminder that if I dared move, I wouldn’t get far. As if I could- I was too frozen in shock and horror.

I held my breath, my lungs expanding and heart contracting painfully, as Logan’s fingers began to pull back the cover of my sketchbook, revealing my drawing of Melissa Stone. She was a senior here at our school, one that always wore shitty daisy flower crowns her friends had made and shirts that showed just enough cleavage to be considered not slutty.

The drawing itself was fairly harmless- it was the first portrait drawings I’d ever done. She had been sitting across the cafeteria at lunch with her friends, her head thrown back mid-laugh, and I remember thinking she looked so beautiful and content. I was entranced, this overwhelming feeling building up inside me, like I just had to capture that- that _emotion_ , like I just had to draw her.

Now, I wasn’t that far off the social radar to know that asking some beautiful girl you didn’t know if you could draw her- especially when you were a lanky, awkward, sociopathic teenage boy- was completely fucking weird and considered social suicide. Not like my social status was anything to brag about, and there was that small issue about how I didn’t talk… So I drew her in secret. It became quite addicting really, drawing people. I just began to see all the little emotions of life in the faces of everyone, and would feel this engulfing urge to capture it down on paper- as if it were something special that needed safe keeping.

Although, not all my drawings were as innocent. I _was_ a hormonal fifteen year old boy after all. Flip a couple more pages into my “precious” book, and you would find many drawings of some very, _very_ naked classmates. I felt my stomach clench as I realized I may or may not have drawn two very naked versions of the two asshats humiliating me at this very moment.

_Damn my fucking artistic licensing!_

“Well, well, well,” Logan said picking up my book in one meaty hand, the other poised in the air, ready to flick the pages to my predestined demise. “Looks like twinky over here is a frickin’ pervert.”

I felt a hot flush crawl up the back of my neck, and paint the tops of my cheekbones, my eyes fluttering closed. I knew there was about six more page before they found anything truly conspicuous, the tension in the air almost suffocating my already tight lung passages.

By now the entire class had caught on to what was taking place and was captivated by the intense scene, some with faces of curiosity and shock, others snickering and nudging one another.

I heard Logan flip a couple more pages, my eyes still hidden from the embarrassing turn of events. _One, two, three._

“Wow kids! We’ve got ourselves a bonafide stalker!” Logan announced. Everyone teetered as I opened my eyes, my entire being burning with humiliation, praying with every fiber that the teacher would come back into the room.

“What’s a matter?” Eli mocked, as Logan flipped another page. _Four._ “Cat got your tongue?”

I felt tears pricking at the edges of my vision at the pure unfairness of it all. If only I could speak- say something- _anything!_ But I couldn’t, I was trapped. I could only sit there, drowning and floundering in the sea of mortification.

I saw Logan flip another page. _Five._

Oh god. I held my breath ready for-

“Oh, would you fuck off Marters!” I heard from the back of the class. All the air came rushing out of me in one breath as I whipped around to the sound of my saviour- only to find none other than _Phil Lester_ sauntering down the aisle.

Phil Lester was probably one of the most astonishing human beings I’d ever met. He showed up about a week ago, dressed in all black, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, his arms adorned in tattoos; he’d caused quite a mess, not only with the teachers, but in a variety of girls pants, if I’m being crude. He had a certain presence about him, something aggressive and hostile, something that made the teachers bristle at the slightest signs of trouble, never questioning his tartiness nor any other odd behavior. I took note to stay away from him and refused any attempts to draw him- I didn’t want to run the risk of getting my limbs ripped off. It was difficult though- his eyes were blue- _so blue_ \- like ice; cold and hard, something I desperately wanted to capture on paper. However, his eyes also said he was someone who would- if you gave them the chance- definitely beat the shit out of you, so I remained cautious and resisted the desire to draw.

As Phil passed down the aisle those same blue eyes flickered to mine and I saw a calm, superior look cover his features, before his gaze snapped away and he continued to the now statue-still Logan. I watched in awe and confusion as Phil perched himself gracefully against Ms. Lewis’ desk, removing a cliché red apple from the pile of clutter, and tossing it up in the air, the entire time his back facing the startled Logan.

“W-w- _what?_ ” Logan sputtered, his hands going slightly slack around my sketchbook. I sighed thankfully, casting my eyes back to Phil’s nonchalant form.

“I said,” Phil repeated, punctuating each word with a _thwack_ of the apple hitting his palm. “Why. Don’t. You. Fuck. Off.”

Logan set down my now completely forgotten book, still open to the page of Liz Meadows smoking behind the dumpsters at school. I’d drawn that early this month, when I was sitting outside for lunch because of the unusually nice weather. I’d seen her, trying to suck the last life out of the bud of her cigarette, her bleach blonde hair blowing in the slightly humid breeze; she had looked elegant despite her surroundings.

 _Really not the time to think about drawing_ , Dan. I admonished myself.

“Look, punk.” Logan said, hands clenched into fists and eyes narrowed, his whole body radiating anger. “I don’t know who you think you are, but-”

“But what?” Phil interrupted, finally turning to face Logan. “Aw, should I be scared of the big mean bully growling at me?” he cooed, his eyes on fire, blazing with purpose.

Logan swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yes. You should. I could mess you up, man.”

Phil barked out a laugh, his head thrown back. It was cold and harsh, the kind of sound one made when they knew something you didn’t.

Phil threw the apple on the ground- it splattered and skittered towards the door- Phil’s now unoccupied hand reaching out to grab Logan’s collar, pulling them nose to nose.

“ _Listen here you little shit!_ ” Phil whispered harshly into a frightened Logan’s face. Eli was standing behind me, still as stone, and true terror emanating from his being. “I’ve been to prison, and I’ve seen shit that would make your punk ass piss your pants! You can go ahead and continue pretending to be all tough- real cute like. But I’d stay away from any dark alley’s if I were you, because you never know who’s watching. Who’s waiting. And your ‘tough guy’ act, certainly won’t save you then. _So. Watch. Out._ ”

Phil shoved Logan, releasing his hold on him, making Logan’s arms pinwheel in order to keep himself upright. As Logan caught his balance, Phil snatched up my sketchbook, snapped it close, and strode angrily back to his seat, as Logan gave him a stare that could only be described as loathing.

A moment later, Ms. Lewis reappeared in the room, everyone’s eyes returning shamefully back to their work as Ms. Lewis told Logan and Eli to “kindly return to their seats”, and began her lecture again about the Pythagorean Theorem, completely oblivious to the events that had just taken place.

Not even bothering to try and pretend I was listening to Ms. Lewis’ yammering, I turned around to look at the astonishing Phil Lester. He was staring at the back of Logan’s head with malice, as if trying to break his neck with his mind. My eyes twitched, from his fuming expression to my deserted book lying on his desk, thoughts pelting through my head.

_Was he going to give it back?_

_If not, what did he plan on doing with it?_

_Why did he help in the first place?_

_Was he threatening Logan earlier when talking about his macho attitude?_

_Did he do that for me or for some other unknown reason?_

I felt dizzy, and lost, and turned back to the front of the room, as something hit the back of my head.

I glanced at the floor to see a small crumpled up piece of paper. I leaned down to pick it up, set it on my desk, and tried to smooth out the creases, as I read the small, blue, scrawled handwriting:

_Next time, try to be a little more subtle when drawing, loser._

I peek behind me once again, trying to seek out who through it. And as my eyes sweep across a certain tattooed boy’s desk, I notice a torn piece of notebook paper lying there, with a blue pen resting on top.


	2. Chapter Two - Phil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the translation for Phil speaking in another language:  
> Je veux apprendre à vous connaître plus. Vous semblez intéressant = I want to get to know you more. You seem interesting.

What an idiot, I thought as I exited the total mess that was my geometry class.

It was only my second week here, and I already deemed the place miserable. The people here were dickheads, ones that valued football players and pretty girls above everything else. It was the typical high school hierarchy you’d find in a bad American teenage drama, fully equipped with a small town where everyone knew everyone, and outsiders were welcomed with torches and pitchforks.

Joking.

Sort of.

Not really.

My parents, brother, sister, and I, all moved here a few weeks ago because of my parent’s temperamental jobs. My dad was a photographer, and my mum was a journalist. They were both what they liked to call “free spirits” and nomads and all the junk. Their jobs required us to move around a lot because of their “artistic vibes” and other weird hippy-dippy bullshit. They claimed this time it would be different, that we’d be settled here for a while; happy. I wasn’t holding out too much hope, though. They weren’t the most reliable when it came to these kinds of things.

I pulled out my time table to check my schedule, blindly walking down the crowded hallway, accidently bumping into people. While glaring at a few intimidated Freshmen, I spotted my next class on the green paper- art- and saw the class was in Portable A. It was a smaller building located just outside the main one.

As I stuffed the time table back into my bag, I noticed that one kids sketchbook I swiped, still nestled between my sweatshirt and geometry textbook.

It’s not as if I wasn’t curious to what was inside it- believe me I was. I just had a policy of not sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, which in this case was most definitely not in that kids book. I didn’t support Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum’s actions earlier, so I ignored the nagging curiosity.

Instead I pulled out my pack of cigarettes from the side bag pocket.

If I’m going to be honest, I might as well say it now: I don’t smoke. Ever. It’s disgusting. I guess the thought of waking with the taste of ash in your mouth, and constantly having that pulsing ache of nicotine never really appealed to me. The only reason I bothered to carry around these soul sucking sticks what to just make people think I did. I’d pull them out at lunch, or stick one behind my ear, so people would just make the assumption. It helped my whole “bad guy” image I’d cultivated over the years- anything to keep the idiots and shiny people with their pretentious ideas at bay. My mom liked to say I was like the under cover reincarnation of Augustus Waters gone grunge. I liked to tell her to fuck off.

I took out one of the soul sucking sticks from the pack, and put it behind my ear, like always, and scowled at a couple more underclassmen for good measures.

As I reached the portable, I shoved the cigarettes back into my bag, and walked inside to find some kind of list projected on the screen. A list, I might add, that looked suspiciously like- Yep. Assigned seats.

Awesome. Fantastic. Woop-dee-doo. Don’t mind me, I’m just doing my happy dance over here.

Luckily, I was assigned to the back- somewhere I could easily distract myself. Even if this was a class as effortless as art, it didn’t make me hate it any less. In fact, I probably hated it more for the soul reason that I was surrounded by it constantly; a photographer as a father, a painter as a sister, a musician as a brother. I practically had art leaking from my eyeballs.

I sat at the back table with four seats, one of which was already occupied by a small boy, his head down and hands fidgeting nervously.

Hey! I thought. That’s the kid from earlier! Sketchbook Kid.

“Hey you,” I said. The kid looked up scared, something I’d gotten used to. Everyone around here treated my like I was some big bad wolf that was going to swallow them whole if they didn’t bow down to my every command. It was a little pathetic if I’m being honest.

“Dude, I’m not going to eat you or something, jeez. Here.” I scoffed as I handed him his sketchbook.

He looked at me tentatively before snatching it with shaky hands. I stared at him pointedly as he quickly stuffed it into the safety of his bag, like he thought I was going to take it away from him again. I almost regretted not looking at the contents inside. Almost.

“A thank you would be nice you know,” I said being a snot. “I don’t stick out my neck for just anyone.” He looked at me, his expression read one of panic, as he made some weird movements with his hand. I took me a second to realize he was signing to me- probably what was my thank you.

I snorted and signed back, You’re welcome, you dork.

His already wide eyes became even more owlish. You know sign language?! he signed incredulously.

I smirked. Yep. And Latin and Russian and Swedish and Spanish and Japanese and French and German.

His expression was one of awe and it amused me immensely, I almost didn’t see his next question.

How do you know so many languages?

I’ve traveled a lot. I signed simply.

The boy paused before asking his next question, hesitant. Can you say something in French?

I thought for a moment. “Je veux apprendre à vous connaître plus. Vous semblez intéressant.”

The awed expression had returned. What did that mean? he signed.

“Aww, looked Melissa. The punk and the mute are flirting,” I heard behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to see Tweedle Dum- AKA Eli Stan- and some chick with plastic blonde hair draped like two curtains, framing her enormous tits fit into a low cut t-shirt. The two shiny populars were heading towards us- fucking hated assigned seats.

“Oh great,” I said sliding my signature smirk back into place. “Looks like the Neanderthal has come to join us- and look! He’s brought a snack!”

I heard a couple people giggle at the tables near ours, and I could have sworn I heard sketchbook kid chuckle.

Tweedle Dum scowled at me, his arm wrapped protectively around the blondie at his side. I saw her whisper something into his ear, making him smile. He continued smiling as he took a seat next to me, Blondie next to sketchbook kid.

Not much was said after that, as the teacher began class. He told us that we would be embarking on a figure drawing unit within the week. He also said that we should begin to practice drawing figures- starting with the person sitting across from us.

As the teacher continued giving instructions, I noticed sketchbook kid reluctantly pull out said sketchbook, all the while never removing his eyes from Tweedle Dum’s unintellegent form.

I sighed heavily as the teacher finished giving instructions.

“Looks like it’s you and me, kid.” I said addressing the anxious boy across me. “Do you want to draw first and I ‘model’?” I proceeded, using excessive finger quotes around the world “model”.

The kid nodded slowly, and began drawing light pencil lines on the clean page in front of him.

I wasn’t really sure where I was supposed to be looking. Should I look at him? I thought. I glanced in his direction, his form hunched over his paper, his eyes darting to mine now and again, his pencil dancing across the page.

Nah, I decided. Too awkward. My eyes slowly drifted from the frantic kid to the window at my left. I looked out at the telephone wires and all the crows sitting on top of them. It reminded me of the dumb jocks at this school and made a mental note to write that down later. A horn honked outside and the birds flew away. I sort of wished I could join them.

“Dan Howell,” I heard a voice squeak. My attention was drawn back to the table. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”

I saw Blondie facing sketchbook kid, twirling her hair with one finger, and tapping the table with her pencil in the other hand. She was leant over for maximum cleavage spilling out of her shirt. I could practically feel the drool coming out of Tweedle Dum’s mouth, as I looked at him from the corner of my eye.

I realized after a moment that Blondie was addressing sketchbook kid, and put two-and-two together.

So that’s his name. Dan Howell. I mulled. Suits him.

“ A little birdy told me,” Blondie continued, wearing a pout that made me want to yak. “That you drew a picture of me. Oh Daniel, won’t you let me see it?”

I looked over at Howell to see he was buying any of it, still furiously sketching away, his left elbow resting on the table, like a barricade to keep Ms. Nosey out.

“Pleeeeeease, Daniel?” she whined, stressing the “e”.

“Yeah come on Dan,” Tweedle Dum chimed in, like they were the best of buddies, and he hadn’t just tried to humiliate Howell in front of the entire class, just a period before. “Logan and I were just fooling around earlier. We didn’t mean anything by it, honest.”

“Oh bullshit!” I blurted, making Howell’s head snap up at my outburst in surprise. I was starting to get the feeling that no one defended him much.

“Alright everyone, time to switch! Model’s your turn to draw.” the teacher interrupted.

I was fuming as I snatched Howell's sketchbook, flipping quickly to a blank page, not giving any mind to the other drawings inside, and muttering fast angry French under my breath.

“Do you mind if I draw in here?” I bit out at Howell, still struggling to contain my anger.

He shook his head quickly his owlish eyes downcast, as he began fiddling with his fingers as I had seen him do earlier. It was almost as if he didn’t know quite what to do with himself when he wasn’t sketching. I felt bad about taking it away from him, and nearly handed it back. Nearly.

Now that Howell wasn’t all hunched over, I could finally get a decent look at him- or really, the lack of him. He was pretty skinny and pale, his lanky limbs fit snugly into the tiny desk. He was somewhat plain, dressed in all black and grey- the obvious goal to just blend in with the crowd. His hair was messy, like his hands were constantly in it, tugging at it, his forehead always resting in his palm. His brown eyes were darting around wildly. I could tell he felt self conscious and uncomfortable with me staring at him. I narrowed my eyes at him and looked at him closer.

With the dad that I had, I’d seen a lot of photographs. Probably more than some people seen in their entire lifetime. I had fond memories of helping my dad in the makeshift darkroom we had in one of our old apartments. I remember mixing the chemicals, the smell of vinegar coating the heavy, musty air. I remember the small oranges lamps, the only light sources in the whole room, making spots in your vision when you finally stepped out into the light. Sometimes, when I was pissed or frustrated, I would go into my closet and shut the door, and think about the sound of rushing water, and pretend I was eleven again, helping my dad in the darkroom.

Anyways, in seeing so many photographs, I’d seen a lot of faces: young people, old people. Sad people, happy people. Rich people, poor people. Black people, white people. The list went on and on. After seeing so many faces, I began to notice things about everyday people too.

Take Howell for example: I noticed things like how his clothes didn’t fit him right, how they were too loose in all the wrong places. His hair was not only unkempt, but probably hadn’t been cut in sometime, curling around the nape of his neck. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing small, delicate, pale wrists meaning I had nothing to worry about in that department.

Bulimic, possibly.

Poor.

Introverted, most likely not by choice.

My sister liked to say I was a proper Sherlock Holmes, deducing people all the time. I also like to tell her to “fuck off”.

I flicked my eyes back to Howell’s, as I kicked his leg under the table.

“Stop moving!” I hissed. I saw him tense up, his averted eyes becoming locked on his desk. It looked almost as if he was going to cry.

“Just-” I whispered again, so Ken & Barbie wouldn’t hear me. “Just, look at me, okay weirdo?”

His eyes snapped to mine, a flush beginning to crawl up his cheeks. I resisted the urge to smirk, taking pity on him, and began to draw.

I started with his cheekbones, and made a line down to his chin, and then back up to his other cheek, all the while my eyes tracing his face. After I’d gotten the main shape of his face, i kept my eyes on my paper as much as possible, to avoid the awkward eye contact.

I filled in the rest of the little details, like the eyelashes rimming his worried eyes, and the dimples that decorated the corners of his mouth, and the short wisps of hair curling behind his ears…

“Alright time’s up! Pencils down.” the teacher interrupted. I shoved the sketchbook at Howell, like it’d burned me, pulled the soul sucking stick from behind my ear, and stuck it into the corner of my mouth.

I picked up my bag, shrugged one strap onto my shoulder, and ruffled my hair a bit.

I watched as Howell looked at my drawing of him. It wasn’t very good: his eyes were drawn too close together, his nose wasn’t right, and his lips were too thin. Still, Howell traced the outline of it with his index finger like it was something precious, something to be cherished.

“You like what you see, Howell?” I said, waggling my eyebrows at him, my voice slightly muffled by the soul sucking stick in the corner of my mouth.

He blushed and I rolled my eyes.

As the bell rang, Tweedle Dum and Blondie brushed past me, both of which were suspiciously quiet for most of the period. I didn’t trust them.

“See ya ‘round, Howell,” I said finally, giving him a half wave, before turning and heading towards the door.

As I walked through the doorframe I turned and looked over my shoulder, finding Howell still sat at his desk, just sitting there with a dumb smile on his face. I smiled too.

* * *

“Hey! How was school today?” I heard as I unlocked the door to my house. I pushed it open with my shoulder as I jimmied the key from the lock, putting the keys back into my pocket.

I heard soft footsteps padding down the hall in front of me. As I looked up I saw my little brother trotting towards me.

“Phil!” he said tiredly, one small fist rubbing the corner of his eye.

“Hey buddy,” I said smiling down at him.

Neil was eight years old, and had just started public school for the first time, this week. Before that he was homeschooled by dad, mainly for convenience, but mum thought it would be better for him to have a more “social learning environment”.

“How was school today?” I asked Neil as I picked him up and rested him on one hip, walking the two of us into the kitchen.

“Terrible!” he said glumly, frowning a little, making small crinkles between his eyebrows. “Samantha was mean to me again today, and I got a paper cut. And I spilled water on my pants and Samantha told the whole table that I peed myself. But I didn’t!”

I chuckled.

“Sounds to me like Samantha has a bit of a crush on you,” my mum chimed in as we entered the kitchen. She was over by the cutting board, preparing something with a lot of green vegetables and chicken broth. My twin sister, Meredith, was sitting at the breakfast bar, her calculus homework spread all across it. She was a senior too, but went to the Arts Academy downtown.

Like our parents she wanted a profession in the arts. In all honesty, I didn’t know what I wanted. I could hardly decide what kind of pizza I wanted, so what I wanted to do in the future was nearly impossible to decide.

“How’s it goin’ frilly?” I asked Meredith, as I set Neil down on the floor.

She turned and sent me a glare. “I. Hate. You.”

“What?” I said, still playing dumb. “What did I do?”

It was like she was trying to set me on fire with her eyes. “You will so pay for this. You’re just lucky Jeremy wasn’t there today otherwise…” She trailed off but I got the point.

See despite us being twins, we practically despised one another. I can’t remember who started it, though it was probably me, but for as long as I could remember we’ve had this sibling rivalry going on. Each week, we would prank one another; sometimes it was tame things like when I mixed up the sugar and salt, so Meredith’s bake sale cookies tasted like shit. And sometimes it was a bit more extreme, like today, when I cut a hole in her pants. She was in a big rush and didn’t even notice her pink frilly butt hanging out until it was too late. However, I’m sure the whole school noticed.

“Watch your back Phillip,” she warned, turning forward to focus back on her math homework. I would never admit it, but I was a tiny bit scared for what she had in store.

“Hey, I’m going to head up to my room,” I said, jerking my thumb in the direction behind me. My mum nodded, still stirring whatever veggie concoction she was creating as whiny Neil sat at her feet.

I sprinted up the stairs two at a time, finally able to have some alone time. I tossed my bag into the corner of the room and flopped face first onto my bed, releasing a large sigh.

I thought about the day and the weird kid with the sketchbook came back to mind. I still wasn’t really sure why I helped him.

Usually it was me, bullying some kid and making them look like a fool. But even though I’d only been here for a couple weeks, I’d picked up on somethings. Like how Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum thought they were tougher than they actually were. How the girls wouldn’t talk to you unless you talked to them first. How Howell didn’t really talk at all.

Huh, I thought. It always came back to Howell, didn’t it.

I wondered what his story was. He didn’t seem to really fit into this town. I wondered what he drew in that book of his. I wondered why he never spoke.

“Phil! Dinner!”

“Okay!” I called back to my mum.

I laid in bed for a couple more minutes thinking about this dumb town, before getting up and heading downstairs.

Truthfully, it didn’t matter too much anyways.

I probably wasn’t going to be here long anyways.


	3. Chapter Three - Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here are the translations for what Phil is saying in a different language:  
> Verdammte Scheiße, die nur ficken ist = Bloody hell that 's just fucking  
> ni är sådana idioter = you are such idiots  
> Que vais-je à faire avec vous, Howell? = What am I to do with you, Howell?   
> see you guys in a week or so!

Chapter Three- Dan:

I had never been so excited to go to school in my entire life. I was lying in bed, the covers twisted around my legs that had been dancing a jig the whole night. I was staring at the clock on my bedside table, counting down the minutes until I could go back and see nothing but blackblackblackblack and ohmygodblue.

I was wearing a giant dumb smile on my face, the kind you got when you looked at pictures of small animals for too long. And my smile- it grew- taking up my whole face- no- the whole room- no- the world.

Because I, Daniel Howell, might have just made a friend.

Yesterday, I came home the same way, my balloon head dangling somewhere in the clouds- because I, Dan Howell, might have made a freaking friend! Forget 2012 world ending, this is how the world really ended. Or mine anyways.

I’d walked through the door, into the lounge where my parents were sat, whispering to one another. Their expressions were ones of shock and surprise as they looked up at my balloon head and I- happiness practically drowning the room- no- the world.

“Honey, what’s up?” my mom had asked.

“Son?” my dad had said. Worry was swallowing both of their tongues but I didn’t care.

I didn’t respond, but this time it wasn’t because I felt like a waste of space, or I felt as though I had to trap myself inside a cardboard box- within my chest- the one with the words “MEGA fragile” stamped on the front.

No, now I physically couldn’t speak even if I wanted to because I was on Cloud 9- no- in another galaxy- floating up past the telephone wires and birds and everything. I was invincible.

I remained like that for the rest of the night, doing nothing but smiling like the biggest dork in the universe.

I glanced at the clock again, still counting down the minutes.

It was 5:34 a.m. That meant only 259 minutes until I could see nothing but blackblackblackblack and ohmygodblue.

As I continued to smile like a complete loon, and waiting until it would be considered a non conspicuous hour that a fifteen year-old boy would be up at, I thought about him. Him. The only him I’d thought about in the past 12-hours.

I thought about his jet black hair, that looked like ravens nested in it. I thought about his gait, hands in his pockets, a slight limp in his right leg, most likely caused from a childhood injury. I thought about his eyes, like gems stuck into that cavern of his, like a secret ocean just hell bent on swallowing me inside. I thought about his angular face and the scowling expression- the one he let me draw yesterday. I thought about how he stood up to Logan and Eli- the two Neanderthals- and nearly made them piss themselves. I thought about his drawing of me- the one in my sketchpad- the one I’d looked over what felt like a thousand times. I thought about how he stared at me while drawing it- his gaze basking my face in warmth, turning it red until I was a tomato with shoulders. I thought about his white t-shirt, with cuffed sleeves that showed off his collection of tattoos. I thought about him without the shirt, his white porcelain skin just begging to be drawn. I thought about him without any clothes o-

Wait.

I sat up quickly, the smile sliding off my face and shattering to the ground. I felt my balloon head pop and float back down to the space between my shoulders. My cheeks were hot as I replayed that last thought, my hands fisted over my lap.

Oh God, I thought. Was this what I was feeling?

I’d known I was gay for while; it wasn’t that difficult to figure out once puberty came ‘round and I was sporting boner every time I saw the male facique.

I just- I didn’t- I’d never really thought about any of that stuff before. All the guys in my town were like dumb crows;  big and loud and self important- crowing and pecking at the weaker birds. I’d never bothered to imagine or even attempt to explore the world outside my small box stamped “MEGA fragile”. It wasn’t as if it was some big secret though- my being gay and all- I mean I carried around a freakin’ book with naked guys  in it. I was practically tempting fate to shove me, full force, out of the closet- or you know, Logan and Eli to do so.

Oh no. Logan and Eli.

Now I was flushing for an entirely different reason. Yesterday was the closest anyone had gotten to publicly outing me, and after the storied I’d heard involving Logan and Eli, I didn’t think they were done with me yet. What if they told Phil I was a queer?

I felt my heart stop beating.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

There was they heart monitor telling everyone I was dead.

I smashed my fist on the alarm clock, silencing the obnoxious sound and restarting my heart. I shoved my head under the pillow, wondering what I did in my previous life to make this one so tedious and awful.

Why couldn’t I just be normal?

 

* * *

 

As I reluctantly walked to school, I thought of all the scenarios that Logan and Eli could tell Phil I was gay. My current favorite was them telling him in the locker room during gym class. However, I got distracted by thinking about shirtless guys. Sweaty shirtless guys. Dripping. In the showers.

Oh god. My hands began to sweat.

“Oui! Howell!”

I turned at the sound of my name, all of my fantasies rushing out of my brain and into my secret box, for later inspection, most likely while I was washing up. Hmm… Dripping…

“Hey.” I saw a pair of fingers snap in front of my face. I followed the fingers connected to a hand, connected to a wrist, connected to the arm of Phil Lester.

I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure I wasn’t still in my fantasies.

Phil looked at me, amused. “You look a little dazed, you okay?”

I blushed and nodded quickly, silently freaking out on the inside because, Phil Lester was talking to me. I felt my head become a balloon again.

“Phillip, don’t walk away from me, you dick! I just want to know where Meredith is- oh. Hello, who’s this?”

I turned my head to the voice, my footsteps faltering.

There stood the most gorgeous guy in history, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked like he had just stepped out of one of Michelangelo's portraits, his greek god essence drowning the whole block. I tried to count the amount of freckles on his face and arms and neck as my mind began to wander in curiousity of where else I’d find them. His eyes were the color of snow; so green and pale as they flicked between Phil and I.

I felt the urge to draw raise up inside me. I restrained myself, but only just, the outline of my sketchbook in my bag burning into my back.

“This is Howell. We’re in art together.” Phil said, somewhat boredly. As I drew my gaze away from the male embodiment of Aphrodite, I noticed that sentence was devoid any indication that were even remotely friends.

I felt my balloon head deflate again.

“Oh hey, I’m Jeremy.” the pretty boy said giving me a half wave. “Nice to meet you.” He flashed me a obviously white straight toothed smile.

As straight as his sexuality, I thought hotly.

“So Phil,” Jeremy said, turning his attention back to Phil, my presence becoming forgotten. “Have you seen Meredith or not? I wasn’t at school yesterday, and she has all my shit. I really need it for class today.”

“Dude, it’s a shame you missed school yesterday. I pranked her so hard.” Phil said.

Jeremy shook his head, smiling. “Man, I don’t even want to know.”

I shuffled my feet as they continued talking. I wonder who Meredith was?

“Anyways,” Jeremy said, finishing up their conversation. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be waiting for you my prince!” Phil said, his voice raising to a high pitch squeak.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and laughed. “Don’t worry my princess,” he said playing along. “I’ll see you later, but you mustn't go without a true loves kiss!”

He gripped his arms around Phil’s shoulders and smacked a big kiss on the side of his cheek.

I felt the world shift. I stumbled.

“Get off me you lug!” Phil said laughing and pushing Jeremy off him.

“Is that any way to treat your prince?” Jeremy teased.

Phil smiled.

Now part of last nights activities included a time in which I spent cataloguing each and everyone of Phil’s smiles I’d seen in the past two weeks. There was his signature smirk, the one he gave girls to make them blush and annoying asshats who should he planned on throwing off a cliff. Then there was his half smile, the one he gave parent’s and store clerks and teachers, as if his sarcasm and wit could be helped, like he was saying “whatcha gonna do?”. There was his small smile, like the one he gave me yesterday while I was drawing him- the one I couldn’t quite figure out.

But this smile- this one was new. It was a wide open grin, so free and full of affection. Probably one only reserved for people he lov-

Without finishing that thought, I spun on my heel and headed in the opposite direction- any direction- anywhere to get away from the-horribly-attractive-heart-racing-stomach-fluttering-absolutely-life-ruining Phil Lester.

“Hey Howell!” I heard behind me.

I ignored him and continued speed walking in a direction the most likely wasn’t school, not that it mattered anyway.

I knew in the back of my mind that I was overreacting, like a big girl or pussy or poof, or whatever other degrading name I could think of that Logan and Eli had called me. But it wasn’t entirely my fault either. I wasn’t used to feeling like this. I wasn’t used to feeling something so strong, that it made my knees weak, and chest hurt, and stomach feel as though a thousand butterflies were trying to escape- a feeling I feared to put a name to.

The last time I felt something like this, it had ended horribly. It had made me afraid of the world and the people in it. It had made me crawl into that dark corner inside myself- into that box stamped “MEGA fragile”- and never come out. It’d made me afraid of speaking. It’d made me afraid of bathrooms. It’d made me afraid of everything.

They’d made me afraid of everything.

I kept stomping in frustration, my head heavy with thoughts.

“Hey! Dude. Fucking- Wait!”

I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder, jolting me to a stop. Hot, harsh pants were heard over my left shoulder as I turned to see a doubled-over Phil, bracing his free hand against his knee.

“Jeez,” he said airily. “Who knew you could walk so fast.”

I stared at him, while he gasped for breath, completely bewildered. He stood, still breathing slightly rough, my brain trying to piece together any possible reason why he came after me instead of his boyfriend.

Why did you follow me? I signed.

“I think my car’s a few blocks back,” Phil said looking around, ignoring my question. He turned and looked around some more, before orienting himself and heading back in the direction we had just come.

“You coming duffus?” he shouted, not pausing for me to catch up. I looked behind me and back at his retreating form, before hustling after him.

 

* * *

 

The car ride to school was deadly silent- nothing but the hum of the engine and the whisper of wind through one of the rolled down windows. I really couldn’t tell you how relieved I felt when we pulled into the school parking lot.

Phil parked the car but didn’t get out- just sitting there with his hands on the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead.

“Look kid, I know you don’t talk much, but I’m not a fucking idiot.” Phil said. His voice was indifferent, like he really didn’t care, but his white knuckles gave him away. “I know you’re mad Howell. So fucking spit it out.”

Phil turned to look at me, his glare pinning me to the leather upholstery. I opened and closed my mouth a few times- like an idiot- before I reminded myself I wasn’t allowed to speak. Phil made me forget things like that. Phil made me forget a lot of important things like that.

“Well?” he hissed.

I bowed my head. I’m sorry, I signed. Then for an extra measure: Please don’t hurt me.

Of course I was aware of Phil’s aggressive nature and how he was constantly in fights with other boys. And of course I was aware that my scrawny frame could in no way take him. It was apparent after this morning that we were not, as I had spent most of last night fantasizing, anywhere near friends. Or anything more for that matter.

I shoved that last thought along with all those related thoughts to the back of my mind to examine never.

I heard Phil sucking a breath. “Verdammte Scheiße, die nur ficken ist!” Phil said after a moment of more deadly silence.

With my head still down, I heard Phil unbuckle his seat belt and get out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

I winced at the unexpectedly loud sound and slowly retreated from my current mold in the seat of Phil’s car.

Shoving my bag over my shoulder, I walked around the front of the car, and warily eyed Phil pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair.

“What the fuck?” Phil shouted striding over to me. “And I mean really, what the fuck? ‘Don’t hurt you?’ Do you think I’m some big mean bully- like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum- who’s just itching at the chance to humiliate you? Is that really what you think of me?”

Even though I didn’t really know entirely what he was talking about, I shook my head and shrunk back from his hostile tone, as he encroached on my personal space- the air between our noses shrinking.

“Are you gonna say anything?! Oh wait that’s right- you’re a freakin’ mute!”

I felt a ball of hurt slam into my chest, and I think Phil might have felt it too, because his eyes softened just a smidge at the edges, but his expression stayed firm.

I raised my hand- about to sign something- to defend myself, but I stopped. I didn’t need friends- I hadn’t up till now- they’re what messed me up in the first place. And it didn’t matter what Phil thought of me. He was just another person. Just another stupid person.

As I continued to feed myself more lies to justify my actions, I did the unthinkable. I clenched my raised hand, and swung.

And made contact.

I felt Phil’s face connect with my fist, before I felt a throbbing ache in my knuckles. I let out muffled groan, at the same time Phil yelped, stumbling backwards. I didn’t wait around for my turn.

I turned and ran- not looking back once as I headed inside to the main office to get checked in.

 

* * *

 

Hoots and hollers were heard as I entered the boys locker room from a particularly grueling gym class. My forehead was sweaty and the back of my neck was hot. This body wasn't built for running; it was built for observing people from afar and appearing like a mild creeper with hair from an unsuccessful 2009 emo band.

I walked to my locker, dialing the combination, my body set on autopilot. Honestly, after I'd punched Phil, my whole brain kind of shut down to try and process that. I'd never defended myself once in my whole school career, so the fact that I actually managed to punch Phil- Phil Lester mind you- was mind blowing.

Phil'd shown up to gym a few minutes after myself, his face covered in a giant purple ink blot around his eye socket. It almost made him more beautiful.

As I opened my locker and reached for my t-shirt and jeans, I felt someone cover my eyes and two more someone's grab my arms.

“Hello Poof,” I heard them whisper in my ear. I felt my heart plummet levels down in my chest as I matched the voice to the asshat that was Logan Marters. Oh no.

I felt being tugged on a direction to my right, my feet stumbling underneath me, Logan's hand remaining over my eyes. I complied- knowing full well I wouldn't be able to overpower them- so I didn't bother to struggle.

That was, at least, until Logan removed his hand.

I was met with the sight of our locker room bathroom- nothing particularly special. There were a row of stalls across from the four of us, the black and white doors connected to them, slightly ajar. The urinals were to the right of the stalls, the flush timer activating, a sound of rushing water breaking the horrific silence. On the opposite wall were some small porcelain sinks, to the left of that was a row of open stall showers, the silver shower heads winking at me mockingly. The white and green tiled floor was slick and grimy, making you question how often did they clean this place.

However, my brain didn’t really have time to process all those details. I took one look at the bathroom and a red alert sign began flashing in my head- one that read “Danger Will Robinson!” with an excessive amount of exclamation points.

And that’s when I began struggling.

I squirmed and twisted, desperately seeking a way out of the tight hold the two Neanderthals had on each arm.

“Hey kid,” one grumbled, gaining a better hold on my forearm. “Quit movin’, would yah?”

They began dragging me to one of the showers, making my heart beat faster and body fight harder.

I felt them shove me into one of the stalls, my arms flailing as they released me, my butt making contact with the slick tile floor. I’m sure a sharp stab of pain shot through me- but I didn’t feel it. I wasn’t really there anymore.

It was almost as if someone had wound back the clock and it was two years ago and I was back in that dim lit bathroom- moths fluttering against the screen over the window- the sound of buzzing.

I looked up as someone turned on the spigit of water and I was submerged- in both the past and the present- back in the grimy bathtub with that faceless monster, only all I could see was silver. I couldn’t hear anything my head under water, lungs screaming. The water was becoming red now, streams of it pouring out of the faucet- the blood gushing. It wouldn’t stop. I braced my arms against the rim of the tub, the water submerging me still. I kept saying “stop!” over and over, except now sound was coming out. They had taken my voice. They had taken everything.

I felt the blood stop flowing from the faucet.

My brain felt fuzzy and my ears were ringing. And then there was screaming.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?!”

“I-I-I don’t know! We just turned on the showers to get him wet, and then we were just going to dunk his head in the toilet for a laugh… but he just started freaking out!”

“Yeah!”

“You fucking morons. Ni är sådana idioter.”

Was that Phil?

“He’s having a freaking panic attack!”

That’s definitely Phil. I felt myself return to the present, my eyes focusing and hands shaking as I came to. I was sat, bracing myself against the stall. My clothes were wet and hair plastered to my forehead. In front of me stood Phil, Logan, and one of the Neanderthals arguing. I shivered as I felt some water drip down my back.

“Well, that’s not our fault that he’s such a freak!” Logan fired back. The look on Phil’s face was murderous.

The other Neanderthal returned holding a towel, which Phil snatched from his grasp, before pointing at Logan.

“You,” he said sternly. “And your asshat friends should leave now. And if I find you hurting Howell again- or anyone else for that matter- I’ll fucking rip you limbs off, understand?”

Logan rolled his eyes as the other two nodded vigorously, before they all scampered off.

Phil sighed, rubbing a hand across his face before turning to me. HIs head was down and shoulders slumped. He’d changed into his normal clothes, his grey t-shirt slightly wet across the chest, a signature cigarette behind one ear.

He moved his hand from his eyes, looking down at me. His eyes were scanning my face, his emotions closed off, like always. For once, I wished I knew what he was thinking.

“Que vais-je à faire avec vous, Howell?” he said softly. He continued staring at my face with a blank expression on his- the purple bruise on his face like a bloom of paint.

He crouched down in front of me, taking the towel and ruffling my soaking hair, till it was mildly damp. The gentleness of the action startled me. No one ever really touched me like that. He covered my back with the now wet towel, picking a piece of stray hair and tucking it behind my ear.

I thought I might cry.

Phil let his hand fall, plopping it onto his knee, the other arm resting with his elbow on top of the other knee., his fist against his jaw. My eyes got caught on his black ink etched into his arms.

“You okay, Howell?” he asked, his face full of concern and slight amusement.

And that, that was it. That was fucking it. With the combination of Phil’s almost kind face and quiet words, I was a volcano erupting. Hot lava tears poured out of my eyes, wracked sobs- croaked and muffled- rattled out of my throat as I tumbled head first into Phil’s unexpecting form.

We slipped and crumpled across the slick tiled floor becoming one person, as our limbs got mixed and matched with one anothers.

I cried into the crook of Phil’s neck, gripping his now fully damp t-shirt with my tiny fists- trying not to think about how completely humiliating this was. For all I knew, this was a set up, and Logan was going to walk back in at any minute and laugh at me for being such a poof- while shoving back into that shower hell.

Phil- to his credit- didn’t say anything during this whole ordeal, just laid there quietly breathing, as I dissolved while sprawled on top of him.

Once the lava had subsided to small hiccups, I sat up, pushing myself up slowly, hands against his chest, until I was seated on Phil’s thighs.

Neither of us said anything.

I stared at him as he looked back at me, with all his blackblackblackblack and ohmygodblue now accompanied with a flush of purple. He had a lazy and calculating expression, like he was writing a story in his head.

“You know,” he said, smirk drawing up at the corners of his mouth. “If you want to ride me that badly you could have just asked.”


	4. Chapter Four - Phil

Chapter Four- Phil:

 

I’ve never been one to be nervous. When I was in third grade, I was cast as Romeo in my school’s adaptation of Romeo and Juliet- called “Check Yes Julliet”. I’d walked up onto the stage to perform my lines, and had done it with so much gusto that I’m pretty sure all the grandma’s in the audience wept their little grandma eyes out. When I was fourteen, I went to this kids birthday party and held twelve snakes- and didn’t even flinch- impressing quite a lot of girls. Even just last year I sang a song in front of the whole school during a stupid talent show just to get with a girl. The point was, I wasn’t particularly shy.

But driving home with Howell in the front seat of my 1920 Mercedes Benz, his hand fidgeting nervously and eyes downcast, had my stomach in an uproar of fluttering wings. I felt like a silly high school girl asking her crush out on a date. Which was totally not what this was.

After Howell’s melt down in the locker room and my sexual joke, that had him stumbling back, blushing like he was made for it, and signing apologies out the wazoo, I’d said:

“If you’re done freaking out now, we could go back to my place and hang out for a bit.”

Dumb, stupid fucking Phil Lester.

I was pretty sure part of the reason my parents moved around so much- though I’m sure they would never admit it- was because they thought I was a loner. I’d never had a close friend or a steady girlfriend- which to be honest was pretty impractical with my current living situation. However, despite my parents beliefs, I still managed to have some sort of social life. Just- you know- not home related.

Any flings I’d had took place strictly at the girls houses or- if in a rush- we’d end up getting handsy in the back of a school supply closet. Any friends I’d had were usually the social delinquents of the school. We’d bide our time either going to the cinema and throwing popcorn at the people in the rows in front of us, or standing huddled in an alley, smoking a joint while I pretended to be interested in my shoelaces.

None of the people I’d met had ever made their way into what I called “the family level”. I didn’t see the point of getting close to anyone if I was just going to leave in the next couple of weeks. And obviously there was the whole thing with my parents- inevitably they would make a huge deal out of it. I could just picture it now, my mum getting all weepy and dad patting me on the back and saying “good job, son” like we were in some 80’s tv show where everyone said “goly!” and “gee whiz!” and wore excessive amounts of button up shirts.

“So Howell,” I said, shaking my head, trying to erase the Pleasantville like world I was currently imagining. “I take it you’re not big on people. What do you like to do in your free time?”

Howell looked over at me blankly like the thought of free time was unknown to him.

“You know, when you’re not at school, duffus. What do you like to do? Draw? Mope? Wank?”

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could tell he was blushing.

I glanced over at him.

I knew what you meant, he signed, his cheeks rosy red. I just was thinking.

He paused as if deep in thought.

“I’m waiting bated breath over here, you know,” I said.

Howell rolled his eyes. I don’t know, I like to draw and listen to music.

I gasped dramatically. “What?! You listen to music?” I said grabbing the area of chest over my heart. “Gee Willikers, son! You sound almost like a real boy.”

    I heard Howell’s muffled laugh as he tried to cover his mouth with his hands fisted in his grey jumper.

    I smiled, turning back to the road. Compelling though it was, getting into a car crash instead of facing the humiliation of my parents, wasn’t on the top of my “to-do list”.

    “So how does that work?” I asked, watching Howell out of the corner of my eye. “The whole not talking thing. I mean, you can laugh and make noises and stuff, but not talk? I thought if you couldn’t talk that meant your vocal cords were damaged or somethin’?”

    I pulled up to the front of my house, and the edge of my tires grinding the corner of the pavement as Howell mulled over my question- or ignored it. Either was possible when it came to Howell.

    I shifted the car into park and turned off the engine as I looked over at him.

    “Howell?” I prompted.

    He lifted his left hand ready to sign before he curled it into a fist and shook his head.

    I sighed. I admit I was slightly disappointed, but I wasn’t going to be an idiot and push Howell when he didn’t want to talk about something- I wasn’t Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

“That’s fair.” I said. “I know some things are personal. But, before we go in I forgot to tell you something,” I continued, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck. “I’ve never really brought anybody home before, so I’m guessing my parents are going to be a bit ‘oh look here’s Phil’s baby book’ and ‘would you like another cup of tea or a jumper’ and ‘oh deary’. Jesus fucking Christ there’s going to be a lot of ‘oh deary’’s.”

    I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over my face- just trying to mentally prepare myself for the bombardment that was going to come.

    “Okay,” I said at last, opening the car door. “Let’s go.”

I walked up the front steps as I heard Howell’s door close and his hesitant foot steps behind me. I pulled out my keys from my pocket and stuck them in the lock.

    “Hey mum,” I said as I opened the door. “I’m home.”

I pushed Howell in front and closed the door behind me as I slammed my back against it.

    “Phillllllll,” I heard as Neil tromped towards us, stopping abruptly when he saw Howell.

    “Who’s that?” Neil said accusatory, pointing at Howell with his tiny index finger.

    “Who’s who?” my mum said popping into the hallway.

    I knocked my head against the door again, shutting my eyes. Penny in the air.

    “This is Dan Howell,” I ground out, eyes still closed.

    “Oh! This is so nice! We’ve never met one of Phil’s friends before!”

    Penny drops.

    I opened my eyes. “Yeah, Howell and I are just going to hang out in my room for a bit.” I said, grabbing Howell’s hand and dragging him past my mum and Neil who was still pointing repeatedly like he was pressing a button.

    “Mum! Look! Look! Phil has an actual friend.” Neil said.

    “Yes, yes, I see honey,” my mum responded. “And before you go Phil,” she continued, stopping us before we could make a dash to the safety of my room. “ Dan, will you be staying for dinner?”

    Howell looked between my mum and I, eyes wide, probably feeling caught in the middle of the complete mess that this situation was turning out to be.

    “Yes he’ll be staying for dinner,” I grumbled, saving Howell the trouble of answering as I tugged at his arm again.

    “Wonderful!” my mum said, clapping her hands together. “Oh and Meredith and Jeremy will be here a little later, alright?”

    “Fine, fine,” I said clomping up the stairs, Howell stumbling up behind me.

    “Have fun dearies!”

    I turned and pointed at Howell as he tried to contain his laughter. “You see? This is what I was afraid of. This is why I don’t do this.” I whispered angrily, waving the air between us.

    I pushed Howell into my room and shut the door, as I collapsed onto my bed face first.

    “Dieu merci, c'est fini,” I mumbled into my mattress. Thank god that was over with.

    I felt a tap on my shoulder, as I rolled over on my side.

    “What?” I said, as I saw Howell standing over me, making me grin widely. “Never been in a boys room before?”

He rolled his eyes. You’d do well to remember I am one, you know. No, I was just going to ask when you were planning on telling me you were a writer.

“What?” I asked again, confused.

Howell pointed to my desk, to the notebook lying open on top of it.

“Oh, nah. I’m not a writer. It’s more of a hobby, really.” I said sitting up and walking towards the desk. I scooped up the notebook in one hand, and leafed through it with the other. Howell stood silently next to me, trying to read over my shoulder.

I flipped the pages faster, and I heard him make an annoyed sound.

“What’s the matter, Howell?” I asked, smiling a little.

Will you stop being such a jerk and just read me something? Howell signed, his tone conveying exasperation, adding after a thought, Please?

“Fine, fine,” I said surprising myself.

Howell nodded, walked over to my bed and sat down, rubbing the folds out of his jeans with his worried hands. I took a seat opposite him in my desk chair, propping my right ankle on my left knee.

I flipped through a couple more pages before I found the story I’d written in my head in art class, while I was looking out the window at the crows.

I looked up at Howell once more before I shrugged my shoulders. Might as well do two new things in one day, I thought.

I cleared my throat and began to read:

“Three egomaniacs sit in the back of the room, laughing like crows cawing at rocks. Their brains made of needles popping bubbles like him and pounds of leftover lasagna- the hundred and eighty pounds of it they just ate for lunch. They huddle together, their cult talking about how much pussy they get like they’re discussing their marble collection- of which they don't have.

“A fourth boy- younger and wiser than the three put together- sits and learns, silently disagreeing but staying mum in fear. In fear that the three dumb crows will pick his dead carcass. But sometimes when the crows go out to play, they wear invisible suits disguised as boys, their ugly outlines hidden from adult eyes.

“And finally one day the boy left, flew away to see worlds where he didn’t have to pretend he was a cruel, stupid crow that popped bubbles like him.”

I stared at the paper. I had forgotten how much of myself I had put into this story. I’d written the night after I’d sketched Howell.

Howell.

I kept my head down, eyes on the paper. I didn’t want to look up. I could feel the heat on my cheeks, and Howell’s questions looming. For once, I was happy he couldn’t speak.

“Boys!” my mum called up. “Dinner’s almost ready. And Meredith and Jeremy are here!”

I nodded to myself and stood, still not looking at Howell.

“We should, uh, we should go down stairs,” I said, trying to get a grip. Too many things had happened today- seeing Howell this morning, his whole weird break down thing, taking him home, and now this.

I tromped down stairs, mind lost, Howell’s foot steps close behind me.

We walked into the kitchen neither one of us saying a word- though for Howell that wasn’t unusual.

“There they are!” my mum said, opening her arms wide. I looked over at Jeremy and Meredith, both seated at the breakfast bar- per usual.

“Dude, what happened to your face?” Meredith said as she looked up, pointing to my eye.

“Oh Phillip!” my mum said, coming over to me and grabbing my face with her hands. “Have you been getting into fights again? Who did this to you?”

As she turned my head from left to right, glancing disappointedly at the purple bruise around my eye socket- the one I’d forgotten about. I saw Howell looking sheepish, standing at the bottom of the stairs.  

“Nah, it was just some bloke, I’ll fine.” I said, as I made eye contact with Howell, signaling that we would be talking about that whole thing later.  

“Oui! It’s the kid from earlier!” Jeremy said, popping up from in the fridge, an apple in his hand, the other on the edge of the fridge door. “Hello, sorry, I’ve forgotten your name. What was it again?”

“That’s Dan Howell,” I said, again saving Howell the trouble of answering. Howell gave a little wave to Jeremy, that star stuck expression when they met earlier returning.

“Well, consider yourself lucky mate,” Jeremy said, ducking back into the fridge. “Phil has never brought anyone home, so you’re the first.”

Mum nudged him. “Don’t embarrass the poor boy, Jer. Phil,” she said turning to Howell and I. “Could you and Meredith get the plates from the cabinets, and Dan deary- do you need a jumper of anything?”

I could see him trying not to smile.

“He’s fine mum,” I said exasperatedly.

“He can answer for himself,” my mum said, placing a hand on her hip.

“No he can’t mum, he can’t speak.” I said.

The room was quiet for a moment.

I looked over at Howell. He looked shocked, and slightly worried- which made me worried.

Stercore im tam stupidi.

“Oh,” my mum said softly, removing her hand from her hip. She looked at it a moment before she raised it and signed Hello.

And Howell, man, it was like he had been given the entire universe, his face lighting up, his smile so wide, it seemed impossible, full with dimples as deep as craters on the moon.

Could you maybe set the table for me? mum signed, picking up a stack of napkins and forks, and holding them out to Howell.

He nodded vigorously at her, grabbing the bundle and heading in the wrong direction of the dining room.

I chuckled as mum redirected him and as my sister stepped up next to me, shoulder to shoulder.

“Your friend’s weird.” she said. “In a good way though. It suits him.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You know,” Meredith said after a beat. “Do you remember that day we went to the carnival during summer and you got your cards read?”

I nodded. I was thinking of the exact same thing.

Last summer, mum and dad took the three of us to a carnival outside of the town we were currently occupying. They had a fair set up for the weekend and our parents took us as a surprise. They had rides that made you dizzy until you were sick, food dipped in unhealthy amounts of grease, circus people decked out in more stripes then should be allowed- the whole lot.

Meredith at the time, was obsessed with gypsies and had somehow convinced me to go get my fortune told with her.

We’d walked into the tent to find a round table with a black cloth draped over it, a crystal ball resting to the right, tarot cards to the left. Behind the table sat a large woman with a long hook nose, and big bushy eyebrows. Her purple gown was elegant and drapey- though it probably could have fit three of me inside it.

She’d gestured towards the two stools in front of the table and said, Would we sit down please? in a heavy Russian accent. She’d slurred her W’s like V’s and S’s like Z’s, so it’d come out more like Vould ve zit dovn pleaze?

We’d sat as she’d spread cards in front of us, her eyes closed as she’d muttered under breath- stirring up spirits or reminding herself of stuff she had to get at the grocery store- either one was an option in my sceptical mind.

She’d done Meredith’s reading first, telling her about her past and future and other superficial things like how many kids she was going to have, and when she was going to meet her true love. Dumb stuff like that.

Then the woman had turned to me, eyes squinted like she was trying to read fine print, and had told me to brush my hands over the cards and pick one. I did as instructed.

I’d trailed my index finger over the cards before selecting on. I’d flipped it over to reveal a upside down drawing of a stout man, sitting on a brown bench. He’d had a red cap on his head, a set of nine golden cups stacked behind him.

Ahh, she’d said. The Cup of Nines reversed. You have had much disappointment in past relationships, feeling as though you are missing something.You’ve been over sentimental and careless, neglecting you partner and their wishes.

I’d nodded, not sure what else to do. Part of that was true, however I hadn’t though I’d been neglecting any girls, if you catch my drift.

Pick another. she’d instructed.

I’d done as told and drawn again, handing her the result. It’d been a drawing of a knight with golden hair, riding a chestnut stallion, some sort of twig grasped in his hand. The woman’s lips had curled as she’d looked at the card.

Oh, well isn’t that interesting. she’d said.

What? What’s interesting? Meredith had asked, gripping the edges of her stool.

The woman had ignored her, her focus purely on me. The Knight of Wands. A man will have a big impact on your life, and very soon if my read is correct. He is an energetic warrior, with a hasty personality- someone quick to hate or love. Unlike the Page of Wands, this card indicates that you will pursue them rather than just dream about them- but I’m sure you will do a great deal of both.

She’d chuckled, apparently some inside joke Meredith and I weren’t aware of. I’d stayed silent, not believing any of it. It was just a cheap trick for money.

There will be much passion and lust, action and adventure, desire and loss, in your future. Look forward to it, Phil Lester.

It was only after the carnival that I’d realized I hadn’t told her my name.

“Do you think it’s him?”

I zoned back in from the spot on the wall I’d been staring at. “What? Sorry?”

Meredith rolled her eyes as she punched me in the arm. “The card stupid, the energetic warrior? Do you think Dan is him?”

We both turned to look at Howell, as he spilled the handful of knifes all over the floor, making a loud clatter and his cheeks to turn red. We watched as my mum swooped in to save the day, and as I thought about what Meredith had said.

Howell didn’t really seem like the type I would go for. First of all, he was a dude and though I didn’t have a particular problem with it, I hadn’t ever been with a guy before. Also he didn’t sound anything like how the Russian woman described. Energetic warrior? Uh, no.

Plus, there was the whole mysterious past and the weird I-can-actually-make-sounds-I -just-don’t-talk-because-I’m-probably-psychologically-fuck-up thing he had going too.

    All in all, Howell was kind of a mess.

    I massaged my temples and looked back at Howell signing apologies, and smiled.

    “You know Mer?” I said, folding my arms across my chest and looking at her side ways.

    She mimicked my stance. “What Phillip?”

    “I honestly don’t know.”

    She rolled her eyes and shoved me, as I barked out laughing.

    “Please no rough housing, we have guest,” mum said hovering by the doorway, in full helicopter parent mode.

    “’K mum,” Meredith said, rolling her eye and heading into the dining room.

    I followed behind her, nearly bumping into her when she spun around suddenly.

    “You know it’s him, don’t you? It’s got to be. Who else could it be, Phil?” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

    I looked over her shoulder at Howell. And then back at Meredith.

    “I really don’t know.” I lied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Dieu merci, c'est fini = God thank you , it's over
> 
> Stercore im tam stupidi. = I'm so stupid shit .


	5. Chapter Five - Dan

Chapter Five - Dan:

 

It started with blonde, overflowing amounts of blonde, curling everywhere the eye could find- enough to make even Rapunzel envious.

The afternoon was dreary as I sat in the back of the art room, sketching absent mindedly, the sky’s funeral-like attitude reveling in its teenage angst- its “grunge” phase. The day was nearly over and I hadn’t seen Phil yet, my anxiety growing by the minute.

Since the evening of the dinner with Phil and his family- well, family plus Aphrodite- he’d been giving me rides to school. Rides, that made it so hard to remember the promises I made myself. Because drives with Phil were always unexpected, even when I’d spend the whole night before trying to prepare myself.

Sometimes they were like all the air had been sucked out of the room- Phil’s back tense in some hidden anger and arms bare, his tattoo’s winking at me mischievously, not a word breathed between us in fear of a cosmic explosion.

Sometimes they were like visiting the ocean- Phil’s wild eyes like seashells I wished to collect, his words about something he felt passionate- being caught in the salty wind sneaking in from the rolled down windows, and carried away for the world to hear.

Sometimes they were like sitting in a church- a hundred different parts of Phil’s history colliding into each other simultaneously, in a cacophony of shattered glass transformed to chalk, a mosaic of all Past Phil’s trying to seep out, while I tried to keep up in rain of words he was weeping.

Everytime was different. Except-

No matter what the mood- repressed anger, bare joy, deep sorrow or enthusiasm- Phil always managed to fill in the awkward silences I couldn’t. He managed to be both loud and soft- loud like he was drowning out the sound of rushing water I never stopped hearing, and soft like he was caressing the fragile pages of my old life. I was beginning to become desperately attached to Phil Lester, enough to make me stay up at night thinking about his ghostly face, but not like I had when I was with Aaron. I never wanted anything to be like it was when I was with Aaron.

But with this attachment came obsession. And with this obsession came worry.

So there I sat, in the messy art room, the dull throb of worry in my throat- similar to that of this mornings- when I realized Phil wasn’t coming.

And what a humiliating moment that had been.

I was so lost in thought I didn’t immediately notice the usual gold appearance- a few students in front of them giving him unintentional cover- and I was too involved with my latest drawing to care. It wasn’t until they sat down right across from me, grumbling like an old Chevy truck engine, and muttering quick angry latin under his breath.

I jerked my head up to find Phil in all his shocking glory.

At first, I didn’t understand- there was so much blonde! It was covering all of Phil’s once black hair, the butter colored locks curled angrily behind his ears and pushed up from his forehead.

I’d admit, it did suit him in a way- although, Phil Lester could probably wear or do anything and manage to pull it off spectacularly.

His face was crumpled into a tight expression, as if it physically pained him to have his hair this humiliating color.

Been messing with bleach again, have we? I signed, forgetting completely the anxiety of this morning.

With Phil, I’d gotten used to being more bold, but never would I be as comfortable as Phil when he spoke. He was able to say everything and anything, and able to execute it as though he was stealing all the words in the room and claiming them, leaving his opponent speechless.

Phil looked up distastefully at his hair, picking out one curl and bringing it down to eye level.

“Fucking Meredith,” he said, releasing the curl and letting it spring back to the others. “I knew she was going to be pissed about that prank.” He was using his cosmic explosion voice. “She put fucking bleach into my shampoo. Bleach! Sie ist eine psycho!”

He rubbed his hands over his face in despair, mumbling more unintelligible German.

Along with categorizing all of Phil’s smiles, I’d spent a great deal of time differentiating languages. Monday’s were Latin and Swedish, Tuesday’s were Russian, Wednesday’s were German, Thursday's were Japanese, and Friday’s were Spanish. French was a given everyday.

I sighed, they kind that made Phil roll his eyes.

How did you manage to dye your hair? I signed. I thought dye had to be left in for a certain amount of time.

Phil removed his hands to look at me sheepishly. “I was taking care of something else while I left the shampoo in.”

I stared uncomprehendingly.

Phil blinked. Then groaned. “God, Howell. Sometimes you’re unbelievably thick. I was getting off, duffus!” he said, making some obscene hand gesture that was I guess the representation of him “getting off”.

I felt my cheeks warm, as my mind wandered.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

I blushed more. No.

“Yes you are.”

No, I’m not. I signed stubbornly.

“You’re so imagining it. Dude, I know your lying face.”

No, you don’t, I signed indignantly, feeling slightly exposed knowing that Phil knew my facial expressions well enough.

“Yeah, I really do. Have you ever tried it?” Phil asked, making the obscene hand gesture once again.

I ducked my head, my ears blushing.

“Oh, my, god. You haven't, have you? Comment voulez-vous même survivre?” He shook his head. “You know, sometimes I forget you’re actually a girl,” Phil said ruffling his blonde halo in disdain.

I glowered at him.

“Don’t we all though, Lester?”

The voice was like when I broke the surface of the water for the first time, in that grimy bath tub years ago- causing fear and adrenaline to course through the hollows of my limbs.

I tilted my head slowly to see Logan and Eli sauntering towards us, their cocky grins peeling away at my skin. I glanced at Phil, worried, his expression blank except for the firm line of his jaw.

“What’s up ladies?” Logan said as the two of them halted at our table. They leaned over us like giant trees as Phil and I looked up at them- Phil with a sort of malice and amusement, jaw still firm.

“Melissa’s not here today,” Logan continued, flicking his forehead up to remove a piece of hair from his eyes. “So I thought I’d join you art geeks.”

Eli snickered at the poor attempt at a joke- not picking up on the fact that Logan was insulting him too- and threw himself into the seat next to Phil.

Logan sat down delicately next to me.

My eyes sought out Phil’s, trying to convey the panic attack I was having.

Phil looked at me steadily and mumbled, “Ich habe dich.”

I closed my eyes briefly, remembering him whispering that to me after he dropped me off at my house, the night of the dinner.

I’ve got you.

The teacher began giving instructions about our new sketching assignment- his pauses leaving gaps for whispers to be filled.

“Hey, Poof,” Logan whispered to me, watching the teacher out of the corner of his eye.

I turned to him, my eyes sliding off his bulky features, everything about him screaming “meat head”.

“I never got to finish lookin’ at that book of yours,” he said raising one dark eyebrow. “You gonna let me see it?”

I blinked.

“Dude, just stop with the sketch book thing,” Phil defended, his arms crossed over his chest. “What is it with you and that thing?”

Logan shifted so he was looking at Phil, the arrogance practically strangling the air in my lungs. “Don’t you wonder what Poof over here keeps in it? Why he doesn’t want anyone to see it?”

“No.” Phil said. We all knew he was lying.

“Because,” Logan said, snatching my bag from the floor and rummaging around inside it.

I made a noise of protest, but didn’t move to grab it back.

“I think I already know what’s inside it.” Logan pressed, pulling out my sketchbook, his smile sharp and dangerous. “And I want to know if I’m right.”

Phil didn’t move.

I tried using telepathy to get Phil to snatch it back.

It didn’t work.

I wanted to shout at him.

I couldn’t.

Didn’t Phil know? I thought, distressed. Didn’t Phil realize that once he knew what was in there, he’d never want to be my friend again? Didn’t he know?

I sat rigid as Logan thumbed through my book, the day in geometry surging back to me- only this time I didn’t think Phil was going to save me.

“There. And there. And- oh- there. Woaw. Do you draw anything else?” Logan said.

I knew he was looking at the drawings. The drawings of boys: ones half finished or half naked it didn’t matter because he knew what it really meant. And he was going to be sure Phil knew too.

Phil was looking out the window, the line of his jaw becoming more and more jagged.

He was mad.

So why wasn’t he doing anything?

“Oh.” Logan said, sounding genuinely surprised. Immediately, I knew he’d found the picture of Phil. “I didn’t expect this. Although, I did, didn’t I?”

He passed the book to Eli. He whistled.

“Dude,” Eli said, his similar blocky features making his mouth that of a hippopotamus’. “That’s one naked dude.”

That caught Phil’s attention.

He snapped his head over to look at the cover, the cover that was blessedly hiding the life-like drawing of a certain boy’s anatomy.

Phil continued to look between the book and I, his out of place black eyebrows, raised.

“Oh, yeah.” Logan said, not missing a beat. “Didn’t Poof tell you?”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see Phil’s betrayal when Logan told him.

Ich habe dich. What a bunch of bullshit.

“He’s a queer.” Logan said, finally. I could hear the pure satisfaction in the statement, that he’d been the one to break it to Phil- and in turn fracture me.

And then- the silence.

I felt my heart shrivel up. I closed my eyes and for the first time in my life, wished I was in the grimy bath tub- just so I could cry where no one would hear me.

“And?”

I cracked my eyes open.

Phil was staring at Logan and Eli with his face completely messed up. It was as if Picasso himself had decided to reconstruct Phil’s face right then and there.

“And!?” Phil repeated.

Logan and Eli shared stunned expressions. This was obviously not how it was supposed to go.

Ich habe dich.

“What? Were you expecting me to be agast? To be disgusted? To high-five you two and shout ‘Fag!’ in his face as we waltzed out of here like assholes, slapping one anothers shoulders and fist bumping like a bunch of fucking meat heads?”

I stared in wonder at the remarkable creature Phil Lester was.

Phil leaned over his desk, arms braced on the sides, getting right up in Logan’s face.

“I don’t know when you’ll get it into you guys thick fucking brains that I’m. Not. One. Of. You. I never want to be some stupid fucking crow.”

Logan sputtered. This was obviously not how it was supposed to go.

“Apologize to Howell.” Phil hissed.

Logan, regaining some of his pride, narrowed his eyes.

They stared at one another, Eli and I nothing more than background noise at this point: it was just the two of them, and their robust loathing.

“No.” Logan said.

Phil smiled, his face crumbling even more, almost completely distorted. It was terrifying.

Suddenly, Logan shot up with a yelp, grabbing his hand, shouting profanities, and dancing around in the center of the room.

Everyone in the class stopped what they were doing to gaze upon the spectacle he was making of himself.

Phil laughed, barbed and fatal, head thrown back. It was the kind of laugh that came from the misery of another, not from amusement.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Logan said, still clutching his hand. Eli and I looked at Phil and Logan, confused as to what transpired.

“I told you to apologize,” Phil said.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to go and stab me!” Logan said indignantly.

I looked over at Phil, twirling a pencil, the point of it red and stained.

Phil stuck it behind his ear as he stood, like he would do one of his cigarettes, as Eli and I sat uselessly along with the rest of the class, captivated by the scene.

What an unusual day it was turning out to be.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, Marters,” Phil said, walking over to Logan, who still clutched his semi-bloody hand and eyed Phil warily.

“But,” Phil urged. “I’m not someone who takes ‘no’ for an answer.”

Logan’s lips quirked as he dropped his hands, both of them now covered in crusted blood.

“Well, that’s good to know, Lester,” he said, his smirk turning into something nasty. “Because I’m not one who apologizes to queers and their lapdogs.”

There was an awful sound- bone hitting bone- and then Logan was on the ground.

Everyone stared stunned, even the teacher with the receiver of the phone half raised- probably to call the principle.

Logan grunted, and pushed himself up, before taking a swing at Phil, just barely grazing his shoulder. Phil smiled and he dodged Logan’s every strike- until Logan got the other fist involved.

Again was the sound- bone hitting bone.

Then it just became brutal combat- the kind that was meant, and felt, and purposeful. It was just fists and arms and legs and horrible splintering sounds. I’d never seen so many colors.

Red and raw knuckles. Swing.

Purple and blue eye sockets. Crack.

White exposed limbs with black stenciled patterns. Crunch. Snap. Thud.

There was nothing but a blur of two bodies, sweating and moving and alive.

It was like a room of wild and violent animals had be let loose.

It was like watching two worlds that had collided.

It was like cosmic explosion.

That continued

and continued

and continued

and-

“STOP!” someone shouted.

Ich habe dich.

 

* * *

 

I sat quietly in an uncomfortable office chair, the kind you would find in a children’s doctor office or the dentist. I stared at my faded shoe laces while I waited for Phil.

After the principal had walked into the art room, the fight was over as soon as it had begun. Logan and Phil had jumped apart, both bashed and dripping fluids that should have been in their bodies. The room was still.

The principal had had some select words to say, but Phil and Logan had both gotten off easy; Phil because of his unnatural charm and Logan because it was, surprisingly, his first offence.

Class was dismissed after the principal had walked the two of them down to the office. I’d snatched up my sketchbook, leaving dumbfounded Eli, and had ran to the office, purtching myself on a crinkly office chair.

As I waited, my head was mess- worry and adoration duking it out in my skull. I kept hearing Phil’s voice when he said “And!?” to Logan.

And what? I thought.

I’d never felt so paranoid in my whole life. I didn’t know whether I should be happy that Phil knew, or unbelievably terrified. Probably both.I knew that I didn’t have too much to worry about though- otherwise I’d be the one wearing the marks instead of Logan.

The door to my left opened and Phil stepped out, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the yellow sip in his hand. He looked over at me, before jumping slightly, the empty hand coming to rest over his heart.

“Fuck!” he said, blinking a few times. “Dude, you scared the shit out of me, god.”

He smiled a little, looking at the ground before shaking his head and taking a seat next to me.

We didn’t look at each other, both of us finding our shoe laces fascinating.

“Have you been waiting for me?” he asked softly.

I nodded even though he wasn’t looking at me.

“I would’ve thought you’d have gone home by now.”

I nodded again.

“Was it true?” Phil said, in the same soft voice.

I nodded repeatedly. We both knew what he was talking about, even though we didn’t want to say it.

Phil shifted towards me and I could tell he was looking at my face.

“Dan?”

My neck snapped up at the sound of my name, my real name. I looked at Phil, his shoulders hunched and body beaten. He looked so tired then.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Were you scared?”

I looked down, eye contact proving to be too difficult for this kind of conversation.

I nodded- it was all I seemed capable of doing at this point.

“Did have something to do with this?” he asked. I felt the lightest touch of fingers at the base of my jaw, almost like a kiss.

My eyelashes fluttered.

“With the reason you don’t talk?”

I noticed how he specifically used the word don’t instead of can’t.

I nodded multiple times.

I felt his fingers leave, and selfishly wished them back.

It didn’t work.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me?” he said, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

I felt the weight of the question- it’s importance- baring down on me.

I shook my head.

I heard Phil sigh.

“You know I don’t care that you’re gay, right?” Phil said. He said the word gay like he would say pretty or delightful or cake. It wasn’t how other people said it- like they meant to say repulsive or filthy or garbage.

I know, I signed, gathering the courage to look up at Phil.

He was smiling, the same one he’d given my the day he’d drawn me- open and closed at the same time.

He knocked our foreheads together briefly and whispered, “Ich habe dich, Dan.”

It felt like the sun had nested itself into my cheeks.

“Alright,” Phil said louder, standing up. “Alright, I’m fucking starving and I don’t know about you Howell, but I could go for some burgers.”

I nodded at him, still slightly uneasy.

I wasn’t sure if it was the unfamiliar touches, or how he’d stopped using my given name, or how we still hadn’t talked about the book of drawn naked guys and naked him.

But for some reason I felt like the conversation was unfinished.

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever tasted something so greasy in your entire life?” Phil said, mouthful or burger. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other wrapped around said greasy burger.

I wrinkled my nose at the smell, continuing to shovel my large portion of fries into my mouth.

“Don’t be such a-” Phil waved the burger hand, not elaborating.

I could think of a variety of Logan-like words that could fill in that blank: pussy, girl, prude.

“-Burger hater.” Phil said.

I laugh despite myself, nearly sending potato up my nose. He smiled, as if he had accomplished something.

We kept munching and thinking as Phil drove past familiar street signs to my block. He rolled the Benz up by my house and turned off the engine.

He finished his burger, crumpling up the wrapper and stuffing it into the paper bag.

I watched him as he reached up onto the dashboard to grab his cigarette packet and pull one out. Phil twirled it, like he had the pencil when he’d stabbed Logan.

I thought about his tone again when he’d said “And!?”, not even noticing as Phil leaned over me and stole one of my fries.

“Whach ya thinking about?” Phil asked as he chewed.

Nothing, I signed.

“Liar.”

I looked a Phil warily as he pinched the cigarette between two fingers, tapping the end of it on the steering wheel, before flipping it and tapping the other end. Tap, pause, tap.

Phil looked at me. Tap, pause, tap.

I was just thinking about the fight, I signed.

“What about it?” Tap, pause, tap.

Why didn’t you agree with Logan and Eli?

Tap, pause.

Phil stopped moving as he stared at me. “What’s in your book, Howell?”

I didn’t like the way he said my last name.

Nothing, stop avoiding my question, I signed annoyed.

“Stop avoiding my question. Because it seems to me that I’ve answered all your nosy questions,, but you’ve refused to tell me anything. Because you don’t trust me.”

I thought back to when I’d punched him in the school parking lot.

Phil leaned over his seat, getting right up in my face, all of his soft features turning sharp.

“Why do you hate showers, Dan? Why don’t you want to show me what’s in your book, Dan? Why don’t you talk, Dan?”

Each mocking question felt like a blow to my gut.

“If you want answers, Dan, you’re going to have to start learning how to trust me.” Phil snarled.

I felt his hot breath ghost over my embarrassed face.

Well, fuck you Phil Lester, I signed with my last shred of pride, as I backed out of the car and slammed the door.

I felt wet trails down my cheeks but ignored them, shoving my bag up my shoulder.

Stupid Phil Lester.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I stomped up the steps and reached my door. I was so mad at myself- I knew Phil deserved answers, but I couldn’t bare to give them to him. I had box of fragile things inside me for a reason- another secret I couldn’t tell Phil.  

I took several deep, choked breaths, trying to convince myself not to turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

I turned around.

I saw Phil through the passenger window, his head pressed against the steering wheel, his eyes scrunched close. The cigarette was behind his ear, my fries still on my seat.

He looked so sad, and tired- not like the boy who was beating Logan earlier. He looked like the boy who sat with the crows, trying to do the right thing when everyone else wasn’t.

He looked up then, as if he knew I was watching him.

We just gazed sadly at one another, regretting both what was said and what was not.

He mouthed something at me, before starting up the car.

By the time he had pulled away from the curb and was nothing but red tail lights at the end of the street, I’d finally figured out what he’d said.

Ich habe dich.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:
> 
> Sie ist eine psycho! = she's a psycho
> 
> Comment voulez-vous même survivre? = how do you even survive? 
> 
> Ich habe dich. = I've got you


	6. Chapter Six - Phil

Chapter Six - Phil

 

“Fuck,” I mumbled, my fingers getting caught in the frayed belts I was tightening. I leaned forward, hands braced on either side of my car, the top of my head resting against the the open hood.

It was Christmas Eve, the season when cold gusts of wind slipped through the cracks- like tonight through the garage door. I shivered as I felt the breeze tickle the sweat on the back of my neck.

This was definitely one of the hardest things to get used to in Manchester- the brutally cold winds. My hands were unbelievably chapped, the backs of them cracked like uprooted sidewalks.

I rubbed them together, smearing the thick, black oil I’d accumulated around my finger, as I blew humid breath on them.

Everyone was out for the evening, at some pretentious dinner party hosted by one of my dad’s work friends. I’d opted out, not really looking forward to long boring conversations with a bunch of geezers, drinking £100 champagne, and eating gluten-free finger sandwiches. It wasn’t really my thing, plus- I detested suits.

I tweaked couple more things under the hood of my Benz, trying to avoid letting my thoughts wander like they had been for the past couple weeks.

I hadn’t seen Howell in a while- my last image of him standing on his porch with that sad, heart crushing look on his face engraved into the backs of my eyelids. That day I’d barely made it to the end of the block before I’d felt the lump in my throat, and the familiar sting in my eyes.

In my defense I’d been confused-  _so_  confused- even more so when Howell hadn’t shown up for school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or the week after that.

Everyday the guilt got worse and worse, that gnawing regret like agony in my chest.

My pride prevented me from checking on him at first, but over time things just became more muddled, as my heart became heavier with the weighted shame.

I didn’t understand  _anything_. Howell and I were not what one would call friends, nor were we what someone would call enemies either. I didn’t know where that left us.

Howell was an anomaly. Despite my Sherlock attributes I’d gained from my photographer father, Howell still managed to elude me from so much.

He made me question things I’d buried away a long time ago- things I didn’t want to think about- feelings I didn’t feel, wasn’t supposed to feel, or just never got the chance to. I’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but they were just momentary flings. Nothing compared what I had with-

I blinked dumbly, as my hands stopped messing with the cable they were caught in.

_Since when did the word_  girlfriend  _and_  Howell  _become connected to the same thought?_

Frustrated, I finished tuning the car with haste and slammed the hood, kicking the tires for good measures, and shouting swear words into the empty garage.

_What was going on with me?_

With a strangled noise I kneeled down, scrubbed my hands over my face, and probably leaving trails of slick grease, smeared over my cheekbones.

I’d never felt so flustered and distressed about anything- much less a boy. I couldn’t stop replaying our conversation in my head, Howell’s cold expression while he signed  _Well, fuck you Phil Lester._

I wished I hadn’t said the things I had. I’d known they would hurt, but that was what I did when I was caught off guard.

_Why didn’t you agree with Logan and Eli?_

The question had hit a little too close to home, past images of those three young crows resurfacing in my memory- things I’d tried to repress.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, my vision becoming speckled with purple and black. Slowly, I retracted a hand, reaching into my back pocket and taking out my wallet. I thumbed out a worn business card, the edges faded from being handled absentmindedly over the past two weeks.

I stared at the ten tiny, black numbers, my thumb tracing over a patch where the ink had bled. I’d had this card for almost a year, and had never even thought twice about looking at it- willing to let it be forgotten like the woman who’d given it to me.

But now- with Howell- it seemed important, like the only one with the answers to my burning questions, was on the other line.

And they were waiting for me.

“Fuck it,” I said, standing up and walking over to the passenger side of the car. I pulled open the door and flopped inside, retrieving my phone from the glove compartment.

I punched in the numbers from the card, and placed the phone to my ear. I leaned my head on the head rest, my eyes drifting close as I listened to the ringing.

“Hello Phil Lester.”

My eyes opened.

“How nice of you to call. Did you want another reading?”

I didn’t say anything as I took in the unforgettable, heavy Russian accent.

“I’m not sure how effective it will be, considering your reluctance last time. Have you changed at all? Or have you called for advice?”

“You know,” I said ignoring her frightenly accurate questions, and the fact that she knew it was me on the phone. “I never got your name.”

She made a dismissive noise into the phone. “How foolish. If that is all you wish to know I must be-”

“Wait!” I said sitting up a bit straighter. “No- no, you were right- that wasn’t why I called.”

I felt her smile smugly from across the line.

“I think- I think I may have found him- _the guy_ \- but I don’t know… I just- I can’t-”

I fisted my free hand in my still disdainfully blonde hair, my dark roots now sneaking through.  _How could I make her understand?_

“Phil calm your mind. Your energy is agitating the spirits.”

I overlooked the spirit mumbo-jumbo, and took some deep breaths.

“Now,” she said. “Tell me about this boy.”

I did.

I told her about the day I met him- about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. I told her about the fight with him, and the fight with Logan. I told her about our car rides together. I told her about his smile that could give the sun a run for its money. I told her everything I could remember about the past four weeks I had know him.

“My,” she said. “Someone’s been busy.”

“Do you think it’s him?” I asked, urgently.

“Sounds pretty, the boy,” she said, avoiding my question. “Pretty things are always so sad, so fragile.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. I pulled down the visor, sliding the cover off the mirror.

She paused for a moment. “May I offer some advice, Phil Lester?”

“That’s why I called wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” she said thoughtfully. “A woman by the name Adrienne Rich- beautiful poet, do you know her?- well, she once said ‘the door itself makes no promises. It is only a door.’”

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired.

“The cards are not the answer, Phil Lester. The cards are merely mirrors- a reflection of yourself- your past, present, and future. It’s your job to decide how you go from here.”

I sat there looking at the dark circles under my eyes.

“And I would start, with taking a look at why your eyes are such that sad grey color. Almost like- a bubble?”

I closed my eyes.

I listened to the silence on the other side of the line, realizing too late that she’d hung up. Even after, I stayed, phone pressed to my ear, eyes darting around on my boney facial features. I saw a pale boy, with grey blue eyes, a crooked nose, and unnaturally blonde hair.

I didn’t see answers. I didn’t see how I should go from here. I didn’t see anything helpful.

All I saw were two blue eyes that’d turned grey over the years.

“This is bullshit,” I mumbled, shoving the phone back into the glove compartment, and exchanging it for a pack of soul sucking sticks.

I pulled one out and tossed the pack onto the dashboard.

I let myself think about all my past encounters with Howell- most of them ending with angry words or a fist to the face. I thought about all the trouble I’d gone to befriending him- all the emotional conflict he probably had no idea about. Unlike him, I’d had years to practice schooling my features into a black mask- each new town like a fresh start- new game.

I thought about his hands- how much time I’d spent looking at them- his only means for communication.

I thought about Howell’s face when I’d walked into the showers that day- an expression of raw destruction, the kind that was so deep it rested in the lines of your soul.

I closed my eyes again.

I saw that blank face he’d be wearing in the bathroom, engraved behind my eyelids along with all his other fragmented faces.

Like the his face as I’d driven away the day I’d found out one of his most tightly held secrets.

The face was hopeless.

Lifeless.

Crushed.

The face one wore when crows like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, picked on bubbles like Howell.

For one brief moment, I let myself think about those three crows in my old life. I let myself think about what they’d done to  _their_  bubble. How the bubble had felt. What the bubble had done.

Regret kept on gnawing.

I got my keys.

* * *

I stood on the porch- the same spot Howell had stood only many, many days ago.

I breathed out, my breath coming out in little white puffs, my hand raised to knock.

I did.

Twice.

The door opened to a tall man with guarded eyes, and a woman by his side, wringing her hands. They looked like they belonged in this town of futuristic Downton Abbey’s. They looked like they should be in apple pie baking country, where everyone wore plaid and grew wheat in their backyard.

I felt their eyes sweep my person, judging and debating whether or not I was a threat. By the looks of it, I wasn’t entirely winning them over.

I cleared my throat. “Hi, um, I came to see Howell.” I said.

Their brows furrowed.

“Dan.” I corrected.

I saw the man’s hand tighten on the door, the woman letting out a small noise.

“He’s not here right now,” he said cooly, beginning to close the door.

I did a quick mental check of what I was wearing that could possibly cause this reaction- as if I had come to beat the shit out him, or egg their house.

White shirt.

Black jeans.

Cigarette.

Piercings.

_Tatoos_.

“Wait!” I said, jamming my foot into the door frame to prevent it from closing. “Sorry! I forgot that- nevermind. I was just- I’m not here to- I’m just looking for Howell.”

They looked at me like I wasn’t making sense- which I wasn’t.

“I’m Phil,” I said and stuck my hand out. “Dan’s friend.”

Their eyes changed slightly, the man opening the door a little wider.

“Phil?” he said, looking at the woman who was smiling now. “That sounds familiar. No doubt Phil Lester, right?  _The_  Phil Lester?”

“The one and only, sir.” I said smiling, trying- and failing- to hide the happiness I felt that Howell had told his parents about me.

The man shook my still outstretched hand.

“Dan’s told us all about you. You’re all he ever-” the woman faltered. “-... talks about with us.” she finished, smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure what I was apologizing for.

“Oh no honey,” the woman said reassuringly. “It’s fine, he’s just-” she paused again trying to find the right word. “- he’s just Dan.”

I nodded as the man stepped aside, becoming me inside. I thanked him and slipped in, following them into the hallway.

“Sorry, we haven’t properly introduced ourselves. I’m Mary and this is Andrew,” the woman said, gesturing to themselves.

“Nice to meet you both,” I said politely. Despite my rough appearance, I wasn’t a complete asshole. Most of the time.

“Would you like a cookie or something?” Mary asked, as we entered the lounge, their cozy house lit in an golden yellow glow, their brightly covered Christmas tree standing in the corner.

I accepted, munching as we sat on two copper-orange sofas, my eyes trailing around the room.

“Why aren’t you with your family?” Mary asked, taking Andrew’s hand as he sat next to her. “Dan tells me their very nice.”

I sat across from them, and tried to form a coherent sentence.

“Well, my parents and siblings are at this art party hosted by one of my dad’s co-workers, and I decided to see if Howell wanted to spend the evening with me. There was this church- my dad was taking photos of it the other day- and they’re having a service. So I was thinking…” I trailed off.

Mary and Andrew looked at each other, thoughtfully. Then back at me. Then back at each other again.   
“I know Howell’s been skipping school, and I feel like I’m partially to blame… we didn’t- I didn’t- I said-” I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to keep the words from tumbling out.

“-I… miss him.” I admitted through my fingers.

They were silent.

I peeked at them over my fingers, watching them as they focused on something behind me.

I turned to look warily over my shoulder, to see what they were staring at.

There, at the bottom of the wooden staircase, was Howell- looking flushed and rumpled- like he had just woken up from inside a dryer.

His eyes were glazed with sleep, his hair an upset of stands, not sure where they were supposed to go. He was barefoot, wearing only a short sleeved t-shirt and boxers.

Even with Howell’s parents in the room, I couldn’t stop myself from staring at all the exposed skin- it was wonderful and dangerous having so much of Howell completely bare. I wanted to wrap him up inside a blanket to hide him away from the world. I wanted to see more patches of his wide plains of sun kissed skin. I didn’t know which I wanted more.

“-isn’t that nice?” Mary said.

I tried to tune back into the conversation around me, tearing my eyes away from Howell’s naked limbs.

I looked up at him, his cheeks still flushed as he shuffled from one foot to the other.  

_What is he doing here?_  Howell signed.

I could tell Mary and Andrew were exchanging confused looks- as if asking each other- _“I thought they were friends?”_

"I came to spend Christmas Eve with you,” I said softly, my tongue seemingly unable to tell lies today.

Howell looked stunned.

I bowed my head- in shame and mercy- hoping with everything that he would be gentle. I didn’t how much more of Howell I could take- my thoughts of these past couple of weeks, how high I’d been getting on my own misery. I was so tired of him not understanding.

_Didn’t he know? Don’t you know Howell, I’m only nice to you._

I felt a hand on my shoulder, small, fragile fingers gripping my t-shirt and tugging at me.

I stood up, letting myself be drug off the couch, away from Mary and Andrew, and up the wooden stairs.

I could feel Howell shaking. I could feel it in his hand as we climbed the last of the stairs to what was probably his bedroom.

We walked inside the dim lit room, Howell releasing my t-shirt from his grip as he slammed the door.

I jumped, startled at the noise, and gazed longingly at Howell. He pressed his face into the door, shoulders tense, hands fisted against the door by his head.

“Howell?”

He spun, his face blotchy with anger, his eyes upset. His face was tormented, his mouth open in an ugly shape, as if he was crying out- as if his entire being was screaming- only no sound was coming out.

I stared in horror at his face, completely petrified.

Then he started moving, his lips taking horrible shapes, spitting words that would remain unheard. Every once in a while, Howell would let out a choked noise and continue his rapid fire rant I couldn’t hear.

It was horrifying.  

“Howell,” I begged. “Please- stop.”

He stopped.

We stared at each other- both trapped in different sets of agony.

He raised a hand, his chest rising and falling like a current, his heart the ocean.

I clutched his hand, squeezed it gently, and pressed it to my forehead.

“Please, Dan.” I said desperately. “No more. Just- come with me for the evening and pretend- pretend with me that everything’s okay. Pretty please?”

He looked at me, the war inside him bright and hurried, secrets surfacing like messages in bottles.

He nodded.

I let out a breathy laugh, pulling Howell into my chest, and wrapping my arms around him tightly.

“Oh Howell,” I kissed the top of his head as he clutched my torso. “Merci.”

He nodded again, his forehead nudging against my fast beating heart. I felt him trembling in my arms, my forehead rested on the top of his head, his skin burning into mine.

I tried to sync our breathing as I thought about the strange psychic woman on the phone. What she had said had been startling, but true. I never want Howell to know the feeling of when a bubble like him was popped. Because that feeling, it was brutal, and crushing, and I don’t know how much grief he could endure.

* * *

We drove in silence, the dark of night licking up the glow of the headlights as we traveled to the church. We hadn’t said a word since we left the house, worry growing in my gut as each moment passed.

“I feel like we’re in the end of a Supernatural episode, and your Dean and I’m supposed to be consoling you about your psychotic, demonic behavior.” I said, turning to look at Howell. “You haven’t gone dark side have you Dean?” I said, mimicking Sam Winchester’s soccer dad-like voice.

Howell snorted, trying to smother his weird half laughing with one of his hands.

_I’m fine, Sammy. Never been better. I just need to get back into the game._  Howell signed.

I laughed at Howell perfectly capturing Dean’s “everything’s fine” attitude.

“I’ve missed this,” I said, the words coming out more serious than I had intended.

Howell paused.

_Why did you have to say that?_  He signed sadly.  _All I could think about for the past few weeks were those words you said to me in the car. Why did you have to say that?_

I felt the guilt I had been building up, now inside my lungs.

_You were the only one, Phil. The only one who wouldn’t do things like that. The one who I could count on. The one who always had me, the real me._

I could feel the guilt traveling through my throat.

_Why did you have to go and ruin everything, Phil?_  Howell signed, fiddling with something in his lap.

“Why did you have to go and ask me questions I didn’t want to answer, huh?!” I said, my guilt changing into anger. “Why couldn’t you just let everything be, and not go and fuck it up. God!” I said slamming on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a crow in the road picking at something indecent.

“I just- Je t'aime tellement ça fait mal parfois!” I said, slipping into french to let out the pent up guilt. “Et je ne sais pas quoi faire jamais! Je ne sais pas comment canaliser ces sentiments ou quoi faire avec eux. Je vous adore complètement et je ne sais pas comment vous le dire! S'il vous plaît!”

Howell looked at me blankly, not understanding my confession, and I didn’t bother to fill him in. Because I was a coward.

“I’m sorry Dan, I can’t tell you what I just said,” I said solemnly looking at the road. “But know this. I will tell you one day when I’m ready, but for now- please just trust that I’ve got you.”

I look over at Howell, his eyes wide and lips parted.

He contemplated my half apology for a beat.

He nods slowly, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

_Ich habe dich?_  He signed.

I grinned. “Always.”

He laughed as we pulled up to the church.  _Alright Severus._  He signed.

* * *

 

We walked through the archway of doors inside the church, the room smelling of holy and burning candles. We walked down the deep red carpeted aisle, most of the front pews filled already.

I tugged Howell’s arm towards the direction of one of the empty pews in the back corner. It was a bit drafty, a huge mosaic window to the right. We sat down looking around at all the people walking through the doors, and the priests in their funny white robes.

Howell tugged at my sleeve to get my attention.

_I didn’t think there’d be some many old people,_  Howell said, wrinkling his nose as he looked at the pack or white haired geezers.

I chuckled and leaned down to whisper into Howell’s ear. “Christmas Eve service is either reminiscent old fogeys or kids who were brought by the reminiscent old fogeys.”

He giggled adorably into his hand, his eyes brighter than I’d ever seen them.

_You know,_  he signed looking at his lap.  _Even though I’m still mad at you, I’m glad I came with you tonight._

I smiled, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. “I’m glad too.”

The lights dimmed as the choir began to sing _“O Little Town of Bethlehem”_  as some of the white robed men lit some of the candles resting at the altar in the front of the room.

A few more priests followed out of the arched doors we had come through, all of them wearing deep red robes, except one wearing a plum colored one.

The walked down the aisle, eyes straight ahead, an aura of superiority about them.

They group of red robed priests walked to the front of the altar, as the white robed priests finished lighting the appropriate candles, all of them taking seats at the big throne like benches behind the candles.

One of the red robed woman stayed behind, stepping up to the wooden podium between the tables of candles on either side.

“Hello,” she said.

The crowd murmured back softly.

“Tonight we are gathered here to celebrate good news of great joy for all people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ, the Lord.”

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace to his people on earth!” the crowd responded.

Howell and I looked at each other, both mildly confused and amused.

“Let us pray, for good will and mercy from our God, to forgive the guilty on this night of peace, and to protect the innocent, wherever the two shall be. Amen.”

“Amen.” the crowd repeated.

The red robed woman sat down as the choir began to sing again, everyone standing up. Howell and I joined them as the beginning chords of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” began to play on the massive organ in the balcony.

“How are you liking it so far?” I asked Howell as he pretended to sing along.

_I’d give it six out of ten crosses,_  he signed.  _Although, I do feel like everyone can just smell the gay on me. Like their all just waiting for me to start making out with one of those pretty church boys over there._

I laughed. “Same, I feel like I’m going to burst into flames at any moment. Did you see that one lady when we walked in? She took one look at my eyeliner and tattoos and looked as though she was going to burn me right then and there! It was like I had ‘sinner’ written all over me.”

Howell laugh in his silent way as the song faded out and we retook our seats.

_The Gay One and the Sinner._  Howell mulled.  _That would make a good book title._

I tried to cover my laugh as the plum robed woman walked up to the podium, her golden cross necklace glittering in the candlelight as she stepped up.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice thick like honey and heavy like charcoal.

“In the light of the stars we shine, the night in Bethlehem, the brightest night of them all. For in that manger, hope was born.”

I snorted incredulously and looked over at Howell. His face pensive, sitting a bit straighter in his seat, the gears in his mind spinning wildly.

“In heaven we are at peace; sleep after a hundred years of joyful pain. On earth we are in a beautiful chaos- one we must often step into full force. And in hell, the fire consumes us, leaving nothing but the ashy remains of our biggest regrets. But the light, it is always with us, God’s feathery touch gracing our bodies even in the fires of hell- always looking after us, even after death.”

Her eyes swept the crowd, finding mine for a brief moment before flickering off again.

“Of course you can’t see now because it’s dark, but when the light comes through these windows it’s glorious. It reflects through the mosaics on the window, drowning the room in color.”

I looked between the sermon and Howell, both of them in a trance- in awe.

“That is what we are all inside. A mosaic of different pieces of ourselves, God’s light reflecting through us.” the woman said, walking over to one of the mosaic windows, trailing her fingers over the glass.

“Happy memories-” she pointed to the green.

“Sad one-” blue.

“Angry one-” red.

“Envious one-” yellow.

“Ones we wish to forget-” purple.

“The black in between, our regrets, lies, and darkest thoughts patching everything together- the truest things we ever think painted as sins. Where the light can never meet.” she said, as she traced the cement.

I stared at her.

She blinked slowly as she walked back up to the wooden podium.

“Around this time of year, your troubles are put aside for the joy of others- you problems put on hold- ignored.”

I glanced at Howell.

“Make sure you embrace the freedom God has given you on this blissful, peaceful day. Tell your mother you’ll visit her. Call up a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. Tell that boy you love him.”

My head snapped up and I could see the woman looking in our direction, a coy smile on her lips.

“Don’t just bask in the light- take it as a sign to let God’s light care for bad things surrounding the good. I don’t want you to let it corrode the evil inside- just let it nurture it. It’s one thing to let the grim memories control your life- it’s another to forget them entirely. To forget them is to shatter the glass inside you- the framework that makes you the person you have become.”

She thanked us and retreated to her seat.

The organ began to play and we all stood up.

I felt a jerk on my sleeve, Howell’s wide eyes looking up at me.

Let’s leave, he signed.

I nodded and followed him out the door, the sounds of  _“Joy to the World”_  on our heels.

****  
  


* * *

****  
  


We sat in the car, neither of us commenting when I didn’t start it.

We just stared into space, both of us taking in what the woman had said.

She’d been both wonderful and frightening, my fear of strange woman growing infinitely with each encounter I had. That and my fear of Howell getting hurt again, I was a mess.

“Oh!” I said suddenly, startling Howell as I reached behind the seat to get my leather jacket.

I pulled the folded piece of paper out of the inside pocket handing it to Howell.

“I snatched it from Logan the day in the office.” I said.

Howell looked at it with surprise and fear. It looked like he might be sick.

“Open it.” I said.

He looked up at me, the anguish on his face evident.

“Do it.” I prodded.

He did so, reluctantly, pulling back the corners to reveal the drawing Logan had torn out of his sketchbook the day of the fight.

I’d looked at it almost everyday- propped right next to the psychic woman's business card. It was a drawing of me, shirtless, the page ending just where my hip bones would be.

It was very detailed, I could tell Howell had spent a great deal of time on it. I could just imagine him staying up late, a lamp light at his desk, his wandering hands in his hair, as he tried to draw me.

I knew I should’ve been creeped out, but really I was flattered.

A tear rolled down Howells cheek as he read what I had written at the bottom of the page.

_If only I looked this beautiful in real life. Maybe one day I’ll give you the opportunity to draw a more realistic version._

He looked up at me, eyes wet and bright. Completely full of light.

_Thank you,_  he signed as he squeezed his eyes shut.  _Thank you so much._

I thought about the sermon and her talk of God’s light. Honestly, I didn’t need it. God wasn’t the one who made me want to show the best of myself.

I looked at the light in Howell’s eyes again, as the church bells started to ring midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Howell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation:   
> merci = thank you
> 
> Je t'aime tellement ça fait mal parfois!Et je ne sais pas quoi faire jamais! Je ne sais pas comment canaliser ces sentiments ou quoi faire avec eux. Je vous adore complètement et je ne sais pas comment vous le dire! S'il vous plaît! = I love you so much it hurts sometimes! And I do not know what to do ever! I do not know how to channel these feelings or what to do with them. I love you completely and I do not know how you say it ! Please !
> 
> ALSO: if you want info on when im going to update next, follow my twitter "theedenfail" for updates about... updates lol. 
> 
> ALSO ALSO: i tried to write the christmas service as best i could from research of different ones ive gone to and tried to exclude any opinions i have on the church and such. also dan and phil in this story aren't religious i just thought it would be an interesting thing to include.


	7. Chapter Seven - Dan

Chapter Seven - Dan:

 

“Why now?” she asked.

I sat quietly, hands folded in my lap, my shoulders hunched, and head down. I couldn’t look her in the eyes.

“Dan, I know you can hear me. You’re mute not deaf.”

I looked up at her and scowled. Ms. Kelly looked at me with the same blank expression as usual.

Because I’ve just decided I’m ready now, I signed, petulantly.

She sat back in the plush arm chair she was perched in, recrossed her legs, her lips turned up into a knowing smirk.

“Honey, I’ve been in the counseling business long enough to know that one doesn’t just change their mind on a whim. There’s usually a reason behind it.”

I turned my face away, and clicked my jaw. I’d spent two years not talking. I wasn’t going to start now.

She tapped her pen on her pad of paper she’d been taking notes in for the last forty-five minutes, and sighed deeply.

“Look, Dan…” she started.

Yes Ms. Kelly? I signed.

She smiled half heartedly. “Don’t get smart with me, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you. It’s my job- it’s what I’m paid for.”

I clicked my jaw again.

“I’m fine with helping you learn to speak again, but in return you’ve got to start giving me some answers.”

I drummed my fingers on my knee cap, debating whether or not it was worth it.

“You could start by telling me why. I feel like you own me at least that much,” Ms. Kelly said, leaning forward and uncrossing her legs.

I relented, turning back to look at her. I’ve met someone, I signed.

She looked at me, her interest sparked. I couldn’t tell if she had expected this or not.

They… they’re different. They don’t mind that I can’t talk. But… I trailed off.

“But what?” Ms. Kelly pressed.

I took a deep breath. I have something I want to tell them. But I think it would be better said than signed.

A grin broke out across her face. “Oh? Well this is certainly interesting. Are you in love?”

I ducked my head, a blush spreading across my face. No, no, nothing like that, I signed embarrassed.

Ms. Kelly ignored me. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me about him. Our last few sessions together, you’ve seemed happier than usual.”

Something stuck out in that sentence.

Him?! I signed, alarmed.

She laughed. “Honey, I may not know everything, but I chose this profession for a reason. I’m very good at what I do. That, and I’ve spent the majority of the past two years with you. Did you really think I wouldn’t pick up on the fact that you prefered men?”

I could feel my face become redder as she spoke, my head becoming a tomato on shoulders again.

“But don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “Everything in our meetings is confidential.”

I nodded, still feeling slightly queasy that she’d known about me for so long.

“I thought you might have closed up more if I had told you I’d known,” Ms. Kelly said as if reading my thoughts.

No I understand, I signed.

Ms. Kelly sighed and looked at the clock on the wall behind her. “Our times almost up. I think this is a good place to stop.”

We stood and shook hands, like every meeting, her smile a bit wider than usual. “I’m glad you’re finally ready to start to speak again, Dan. My recommendation would be to start trying practice forming words with your mouth, just to get familiar with speaking again. Don’t be too hard on yourself, though. You  probably won’t be able to start saying any actually words for a bit.”

I nodded. I understood it would be difficult, but it would be worth it. I would finally be able to talk to Phil.

“Okay, I set up a speech therapy class for you. See you next week.”

Bye, I signed, walking out the door and shutting it softly behind me.

 

* * *

 

I stared up at my ceiling, thinking about the previous counseling session that had gone better than I’d planned. I’d thought she was going to ask a whole bunch of nosy question like usual, or phrase things differently in hopes that I would accidently let something slip. However over the years, I’d grown wise to her tricks; the best thing to do was to stay silent and not respond, which wasn’t that hard in my case.

But this time, things went well- other than the whole gay thing that she’d apparently know about for a while anyways.

I picked at some of the dry paint on my arm.

I still didn’t understand how some random stranger was going to get me to talk though.  

In the beginning, when I had stopped talking and after my parents had taken me to the doctor and found out there was no damage to my vocal chords, they’d gotten me a therapist: Ms. Kelly. She’d said I was probably shock from a traumatizing experience, and that was what had caused the current lack of speech. Both of my parents had turned to me for answers, but I wasn’t willing to share.

Even still, I bet they’re wondering- what did our son go through to turn him into that thing?

I picked at more of the paint on my arm, sat up and shuffled over to my desk. I turned on the lamp and flopped into the chair, pulling my sketchbook towards me.

Yesterday at school, it was the first day back from winter break, the first day I’d seen Phil since he brought me to the church. When I’d seen him in art, his hair half blonde and half his darkened roots, he’d smiled shyly at me- making my heart swell.

Only a few moments ago, I’d finished a painting of that smile, his Mona Lisa grin and lanky body leaning against the shattered mosaic glass of the church window- what the inside of Phil probably looked like.

I traced the outline of his form, careful not to smear the still wet paint.

He was so…

I shook my head smiling a bit to myself. Some days it felt like I would never figure that guy out, his complex ideas and confusing actions too much for my world. I felt as though he would never let me in, like he thought his inside window would cut me if I came too close.

I flipped a couple pages back, again careful of the paint, to find the taped in picture of Phil.

When he had given it to me that night at church, I’d be furious. How could he have been so cruel?

But when I’d opened it, I’d become hopeful. That maybe one day, Phil would feel the same twisted, heart tugging feeling I felt for him. That maybe one day I could have a do over- something different than what I had with Aaron.

I reached for my phone, unlocking the screen and tapping my “voice memos”. I pressed “play” on the most recent one, Phil’s agitated voice reverberating out of my speakers.

“...et je ne sais pas quoi faire jamais! Je ne sais pas comment canaliser ces sentiments ou quoi faire avec eux.”

I closed my eyes, letting the mysterious words paint my ears.

“Je vous adore complètement et je ne sais pas comment vous le dire! S'il vous plaît!”

I opened my ear and turned off my phone, looking at the painting of Phil again. Even though I had recorded him with the intention, I hadn’t dared translate the words he had said to me that night. I was worried at what I would find- be it good or bad. Plus Phil had told me he would tell me when he was ready. And I had to trust him, something I’d been lacking for a while.

Trust. Hmm. What a fickle thing, I thought.

As I stared at the painting I mouth Phil’s name with my chapped lips- practicing.

Phil.

Phil.

Phil.

Why don’t you just stop?

I blinked.

You’ll never be able to do it, Dan.

I blinked again, slower, trying to place the voice in my head. It was one I hadn’t heard for a very long time. Not since that horrible night in the creepy bathroom.

I blinked. Aaron.  
Just quit Dan. He doesn’t even care about you anyways.

Shut up, I thought.

You’re so pathetic. I bet he’d be much better off being friends with Logan and Eli. At least they could actually hold a conversation with him.

Shut up! I thought.

You know I’m right. His imaginary voice prodded at the walls inside me, the ones keeping the fragile things inside me protected. You know he doesn’t care about you. You know he’s going to leave soon and never come back.  

Stop it! STOP IT! I thought pressing my hands against my ears, as if it would stop the voices in my head.

You know you should have just died in that bathtub that night.

I froze.

You know you should have, Dan.

I couldn’t move. I hadn’t contemplated suicide in a long time, much longer than Phil’s been around. It would be ridiculous to start now. But…

What if Phil did leave?

He’d told me about his parents, and how they didn’t stay in one place for long. What if he left?

I leaned back in my chair.

I’d never thought about what I would do if something happened to Phil. He’d just kind of grown into my life, something that was always there. Even when we were mad at one another I never questioned whether or not he would be there the next day. He would.

But for how much longer? Aaron’s voice said.

I got up from the chair and laid down again, looking up at the ceiling.

I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep, but the next thing I knew there was something brushing the backs of my hand and arm, like soft kisses.

“Again, Howell?” someone said.

Still groggy with sleep and blurry eyed, I lifted my head off my pillow to view the intruder.

Blonde was the first thing I saw, before a white t-shirt, and black jeans, and an angular face came into focus.

Phil was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the door. His finger was tracing small patterns across my forearm and back of my hand.

I swallowed as Phil turned to look at me.

Phil? What are you doing here? I signed.

He tilted his head, looking at me sideways. “You weren’t at school today, so I came to check on you. You’re not still moping around because you’re mad at me, are you?”

I shook my head glancing at the clock on my bedside table.

6:37 pm.

I didn’t bother wondering why my mum and dad didn’t wake me up. They check out of my life a while ago.

Phil let out a long breath. “Well, that’s good.”

He stood up and walked to the door, as I sat up quickly.

You’re not leaving are you?! I signed panicked, not sure which question I was really asking.

Phil turned back to look at me. “I was planning on it, so I could wash up and do some homework and all that jazz.”

Still waking up, I swung my legs over the edge of my bed, noticing for the first time Phil’s greasy form.

Why do you look like you just roll from out under a car? I asked wrinkling my nose.

Phil rolled his eyes. “Do you want to come over to mine? My mum probably wouldn’t mind if you spend the night. I’ve never had the friend stay the night, so a surplus of ‘oh dearies’ is in order.”

I looked at Phil as he leaned against the door frame, looking so comfortable and impossible like the creature he was. What would I do when he left? My previous ponderings came back to me, Aaron’s malicious voice floating around in my subconscious.

“What are you thinking, Howell?” Phil asked.

Let’s go to your house, I signed, ignoring his question.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but just shook his head and gestured to the door.

“After you, M’Lady.” he said grinning.

I punched him in the arm as I walked by.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to do this.” Phil said.

I was laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling again- one of my favorite activities and something I could easily do in the comforts of my own room. I wasn’t sure what compelled me to come to his house. Whether it was his familiar comforting presence, or the looming thoughts of today and Phil’s possible departure, I wasn’t certain.

Do what? I signed, rolling over onto my stomach, watching as Phil rummaged around on his haphazard desk.

“This.” he said, pulling out a small black rectangular box.

And what is that? I signed.

“A dildo.”

I felt my ears blush.

Phil laughed. “No stupid, it’s hair dye. I’m getting really fucking sick and tired of this damn blonde so I thought I would dying it something different.”

What color? I signed, rolling onto the floor and walking over to where Phil stood looking at the instructions on the box.

“It’s a surprise.” he said snatching the box away from my sight.

I rolled my eyes at his childishness.

“Will you help me?” he asked.

I nodded as he opened the box, pulled out the gloves and handed them to me.

I slipped them on as he mixed the appropriate powders and liquids into the corresponding bottles.

We did this in silence, until Phil handed me a bottle of blackish liquid.

“Okay, now just drizzle this onto my hair, and then just kind of ‘massage it in’. Careful of my scalp though.”

I nodded at his instructions, as he sat down at his desk chair, his back to me.

I stood staring at the mess of blonde and black curls atop his head, the bottle heavy in my hand.

“Howell?”

I started, walking closer the Phil, and applying a little of the black liquid to his hair, rubbing it in with the tips of my fingers.

Soon I found a rhythm.

Pour.

Mix.

Pour.

Mix.

Shake.

Pour.

Mix.

“You know, sometimes I forget you can’t talk.” Phil said suddenly.

I paused my rhythm.

“Like now, while we weren’t talking I was thinking- jeez is he mad at me or something? But then I remembered…”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, and continued dying his hair.

Pretty soon his entire head was covered in the strange black goop, my wrists slightly sticky from where the gloves didn’t extend.

“Come on, let’s go wash your hands while I wash my hair?” Phil said getting up from the chair.

I pulled off my gloves, wrapping them inside one another. Phil grabbed my hand, and tagged me along towards the bathroom.

I planted my feet. Phil turned his head to look at me.

Doesn’t the dye have to set in first? I signed stalling.

Phil shook his head. “No, this one is a fast setting dye.”

I hesitated.

“I be in there with you. Just don’t look at the tub.”

I nodded.

We entered the bathroom, my eyes avoiding the bathtub, as I headed straight for the sink. I scrubbed my hands together, humming to try and drown out the sound of rushing water behind me.

I turned off the tap and dried my hands, accidently looking up into the mirror.

Bathtub.

I felt the dizzy feel, the claustrophobic feeling closing in on me.

Flashes of silver and red.

Voices and screams.

This wont hurt, Dan. It did.

You’ll be okay, Dan. I wasn’t.

You’re my friend, Dan. Friends should feel each others pain shouldn’t they. No, they shouldn’t. Not in that way.

“Hey, Howell?”

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I focused back in, seeing Phil standing behind me, towel over his head and a worried expression.

“You’re here.”

I shook my head, erasing my thoughts as I walked with him out of the bathroom, Phil following softly behind me.

I went and sat on the bed, watching a Phil turned off the bathroom light, and rubbed the towel over his head.

“You ready to see?” he asked. I could tell he was trying to distract me from the whole bathroom thing.

I nodded still feeling a bit queasy.

He removed the towel from his head, spreading his arms wide. “Ta-da!”

I blinked.

His rapunzel like locks were gone, now replaced with baby blue ones. They were soft and bouncy almost the same color of his eyes. He was stunning.

“Do you like it?” he asked, shy like.

I nodded eagerly.

“Wow,” Phil said, shaking his hair out a bit. “We’ve told each other our secrets. We’ve dyed my hair. Now all we need to do is try on each others bras and it’ll be a really sleep over.”

As usual, I blushed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> i thorrowly disappointed in the lack of "take me to church" jokes last chapter, lol. Sorry i'm so late updating it's been like 3 WEEKS! sorry guys i know, im lame. 
> 
> In some more exciting new- after i finish //arms// im going to be posting a new phan fic. this one will feature a younger phil and a more shy phil and older dan. SO EXCITED FOR THE AGE GAP THOU I LIVE FOR THAT SHIT. 
> 
> also anyone wondering who Aaron is? or what's going on with phils past? or dan's? or why he's scared of bathrooms? or maybe when the frickle frack they're going to confess? OR WHY DIDN"T DAN TRANSLATE THE WORDS HE RECORDED SO IT WOULD SOLVE THE PREVIOUS PROBLEM LIKE DUDE WTF! 
> 
> lol. 
> 
> also if no one saw last time, you can follow my twitter "theedenfail" for updates on when im going to post because i am very unreliable. oops.   
> alright thats all until next week- (hopefully :D) 
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> ...et je ne sais pas quoi faire jamais! Je ne sais pas comment canaliser ces sentiments ou quoi faire avec eux. = ... and I do not know what to do ever! I do not know how to channel these feelings or what to do with them.
> 
> Je vous adore complètement et je ne sais pas comment vous le dire! S'il vous plaît! = I love you completely and I do not know how you say it! Please!
> 
>  
> 
> Xxx- Eddy


	8. Chapter Eight - Phil

Chapter Eight - Phil:

 

It’s funny- how attuned you can become to other people. You don’t even realize it sometimes.

I used to be that weird scary guy that spent all his time in his room writing stories, or the one who went to parties to get completely smashed and start trouble. I’d never had the chance to actually have a friend. Someone I could spend all of my time with, in my room writing stories, and have them share the quiet space with.

As I sat currently, messing with my soul sucking sticks, feet up on my desk, my eyes were on Howell- in more ways than he knew. They seemed to have a mind of their own lately, always finding him, looking at his thin, bony hands, forming words and stories.

My eyes trance his hunched body, oblivious to my stare, reading some battered book- same hands wrapped tightly around the cover, legs curled underneath him. He was so small- I almost wished I could pick him up in my hand and whisk him away from whatever nightmare he feared so much.

I tossed the cigarettes onto my desk and dropped my feet, walking over to where Howell sat. I reached over, snatching the book out of his hands.

He made a noise of protest, extending his arms out, trying to grab it back.

“What are you reading?” I asked looking at the cover. I plopped down next to him, jostling his perturbed form.

None of your business jerk, he signed, taking the book back- however not before I saw the title.

“The Little Prince?” I asked, incredulously.

He shrugged, curling his shoulders in on himself- probably thinking I thought he was a giant loser or something.

“I love that book,” I saide. “My mum used to read that to me as a kid.”

Howell looked at me surprised. Oh, yeah. Well I’m supposed to read it as an English Assignment- but I haven’t gotten very far. I hardly understand anything.

I furrowed my brow. “Are you reading the French version?”

Howell smiled sheepishly at me. For extra credit.

“I could read it to you if you want,” I suggested. “I mean, we’re really not doing anything else. Unless you’re ready to cash in that drawing opportunity I offered.”

Howell turned maroon. Maybe another time for the drawing… he signed.

I laughed taking the book from him again. “Whatever you say, Howell.”

I cleared my throat, getting comfortable as Howell leaned his head against my shoulder.

“‘The Little Prince went to look at the roses again.’” I began to read, slipping into my impeccable french accent.

“‘You’re not at all like my rose.  You’re nothing at all yet,’ he told them.  ‘No one has tamed you and you haven’t tamed anyone.  You’re the way my fox was.  He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others.  But I’ve made him my friend, and now he’s the only fox in all the world.’

And the roses were humbled.

‘You’re lovely, but you’re empty,’ he went on. ‘ One couldn’t die for you.  Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you.  But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered.  Since she’s the one I put under glass.  Since she’s the one I sheltered behind a screen.  Since she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three for butterflies).’”  

As I read, I could feel Howell’s breathing slow, his pulse in his neck thrumming against my shoulder. I could feel his eyelashes fluttering on my t-shirt, his fingers playing with mine.

It was nice.

I continued reading.

“‘Good-bye,’ he said.

‘Goodbye,’ said the fox.  ‘Here is my secret.  It’s quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart.  Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.’

‘Anything essential is invisible to the eyes,’ the little prince repeated, in order to remember.

‘It’s the time you spend on your rose that makes your rose so important.’

‘It’s the time I spent on my rose…,’ the little prince repeated, in order to remember.

‘People have forgotten this truth,’ the fox said.  ‘But you mustn’t forget it.  You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.  You’re responsible for your rose…’

‘I’m responsible for my rose…,’ the little prince repeated, in order to remember.’”

I felt my heart stutter as Howell sighed, and brushed his hand behind my back, to reach my hip on the other side. He squeezed his tiny arms around my waist, burrowing his forehead into my collarbone, his tufts of hair tickling my neck.

I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

Slowly, I reached out my hand that wasn’t holding the book, and carded my fingers through his hair.

I felt his breath blow out against my neck.

My mind was crashing and falling- what the fuck was I doing?

I sat the book down on the side of the bed, as I continued to stroke my fingers through Howell’s hair and he continued to tumble into a deep sleep.

I tried to think when my feelings of concern and protection for this small, odd boy bloomed into something bigger. Obviously I was confused about why I was suddenly attracted to a boy- but he also wasn’t anything like the people I’d messed around with in the past. Except-

I thought about that one dimly lit afternoon, in the back of a classroom- back to when I’d worn a feathered crown. I remember that that had been the first time I’d saw two guys kiss. I hadn’t known how to react to such a display. The others had- saying things and calling out names I hadn’t heard of. The two boys had slunk into their chairs, ashamed, their cheeks bright red.

Thats what Howell reminded me of sometimes- those two lost boys trying to figure things out.

I remember going home and writing their story- the kiss permanently stained in my mind. It wasn’t very long, lasting no more than a second or so, but they both looked happy.

I felt Howell’s breath, slow and even- cascading over my neck. I shifted him carefully, pulling him onto my lap, my arms wrapped around him tightly, his head on my chest, my chin on top of his hair, his tiny fists grabbing my t-shirt.

I didn’t know when the last time Howell was held, but from the grip of his hands, I’d say it’d been too long.

Since the moment I’d met Howell, everything had been different. I had known he’d liked me since the first day I’d met him, confirmation of the fact when I’d taken the drawing of me back from Logan. Even now, as I held him, I could feel his heart beating just a bit faster then it would with a friend.

For some reason it didn’t bother me. Whether that was because of the defiance for the crows ways that had been engraved into me, or my messed up feelings, I couldn’t be sure. Howell had been from the start, this fragile thing, a flower so beautiful, soft to the touch, but surrounded by infinite thorns.

“I’m responsible for my rose,” I mumbled, my eyelids drooping, my heart beat syncing with Howells, and sleep overtaking me.

 

* * *

 

I woke to small whimpers, something trembling in my arms, light beams of sunlight pouring through the cracks in my blinds. I opened my eyes slowly, the edges of them still crusted with sleep, my biceps sore.

I lifted my head slowly, trying to orient myself. I felt a heavy body pressed into my chest, their breaths close to sobs.

Howell.

I rolled onto my back, our chests pressed together, my rough hands rubbing circles into his back. I knew he was awake when his breath hitched, his little gasps being silenced to small hiccups.

We stayed like that for a bit, just sinking into the quiet, saving and cherishing one anothers warmth- until I glanced at the clock.

“Hey, Howell?” I asked, my voice deep and scratchy from sleep.

He made a small humming noise.

“What day is it?”

He removed his grip from my shirt, folding his arms on my chest and placing his chin on top of his hands, probably getting a charming angle of my nostrils.

Wednesday? he signed, rubbing his eyes with the back of one of his hands.

I turned my head back to the clock. “Yeah, well it’s 7:58.”

Howell sat up quickly, rolling off of me and nearly face planting it onto the floor.

“Shit, pourquoi ces sortes de choses arrivent toujours à nous?” I mumbled, as I sat up and surveyed my room for a clean pair of jeans.

I heard a frustrated noise to my left as I pull off my jeans and changed them for a slightly less greasy pair.

“What?” I said annoyed, turning around with my pants still unbuttoned.

I found Howell pulling the edge of his t-shirt away from his body, his face scrunched up in disdain. There was a bright blue patch in the center, probably caused by the hair dye last night.

“Ugh, here you space cadet,” I said, tousling my hair and throwing one of my hoodies at him. “Put this on and hurry up.”

He caught it, his eyes darting down to my unzipped pants for a moment, his cheeks pink as he turned around.

I smirked for a second until he took off his shirt, his shoulder blades pulling and folding under his golden skin, freckles dotting down his spine. I stared.

Howell lifted the hoodie over his head and slipped it on- the droopy and baggy sleeves making it obvious that the sweat shirt belonged to a much broader person.

He turned back around, waving his sweat paws at me frantically. He looked so cute.

“Here,” I said softly, walking towards him. I pulled the edge of the sleeve on his right hand, folding it back over his forearm, once, twice. I did it again with the other arm, slowly, drawing the contact out. I could feel Howell’s eyes on me as I glanced at him from under my lashes.

Once I finished, my fingers crawled down to his palm, my thumb rubbing familiar circles with my chapped hands.

Howell hummed.

“We should go.” I mumbled, pressing my forehead against his, scrunching up my face like he had earlier.

Howell nodded against my head, knocking ours together.

I slipped away quickly, shut the door behind me as I left my room, and raced down the stairs to my car.

I yanked open the driver side door, and threw myself inside. I reached over to the glove compartment side, shuffling around inside it for my cigarettes, before I realized I’d left them back in my room.

I sighed deeply, rubbing my thumb and pointer finger across my forehead.

Howell was stressing me out. All the constant flirtation and dancing around our feelings was driving me insane.

I thought about the psychic lady and the woman at the church- even Meredith- all telling me the same thing.

Tell that boy you love him.

I felt the car rattle as the passenger side door was opened and closed.

I looked over at Howell as he looked at me.

Ready to go? he signed.

Maybe I’ll tell him later, I thought.

 

* * *

 

The final bell rang, the screeching of chairs and chatter of students almost drowning it out. I leaned back in my chair, reaching my arms above my head, twisting to the side to crack my back. I felt more than heard the familiar pop noise, and turned to the other side to achieve the same result.

I head fingers rap against my desk, and I looked to see Howell standing there- still in my hoodie, his sketchbook clutched tightly in the crook of his arm.

Can I have a ride home? he signed, his shoulders hunched and caving in on himself. Even after all this time, he couldn’t erase his natural posture radiating unconfidence.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, reaching out and ruffling his hair- an action that tugged at my heart strings. “I have to use the loo first, so you go ahead without me.”

Howell made a face, nodded, and turned to leave the room without a glance back.

I stood up and gathered my stuff, heading to the bathroom. I whistled quietly as I walked through the grounds and into the main building, my thoughts full of Howell and how I could confess.

I didn’t want to be lame- roses and heart eyes weren’t really my thing. But I didn’t want to be insensitive either- the cold, cool guy demeanor kryptonite to relationships.

Distracted, I walked through the doorway to the restroom and knocked shoulders against someone, as they mumbled “douche” under their breath. I looked back to see Eli sauntering confidently past me and down the hall, whistling shrilly, mimicking me.

I snorted.

I walked over to the sink, tossing my bag on the ground. I washed my hands, trying to scrub the graphite off the side of my palm, just thinking- something I seemed to be doing a lot of lately.

I dried my hands with the paper towel, threw it away, and paused to look at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t understand how Howell and I worked. He was a sad boy who feared bathrooms and drew pictures of boys he liked. He was thoughtful and never spoke, looking at the world with optimism but an untold amount of caution. He was plain, but with hidden beauty underneath the oversized clothes he wore. He was a boy who kept a boundless amount of secrets tucked away inside that head of his, ones I may never know.

And then there was me, a pale, lanky, junky looking boy- with tattoos up and down my arms- like they were running along with me from Old Phil. This New Phil was confident and all knowing, the pillar keeping everything standing. Old Phil was tucked away- like Howell’s secrets- shy and embarrassed and questioning, waiting for someone to help him find his way.

I hadn’t realized I was crying at first, the tears falling slowly down my sharp cheeks. I tugged at the strands of my hair, the color of Old Phil’s eyes.

I’d always known I lived as two different people- the outside of me- New Phil- an exoskeleton to protect the fragile, gentle body underneath- Old Phil. They’d been living apart, in different worlds for different people for so long, that I hadn’t even realized that when I was with Howell, they kind of… merged. Not Old Phil and New Phil but just Phil.

I wiped my eyes, picked up my bag, and left the bathroom.

My mind was made up. I had to tell Howell- before I lost my nerve.

I wished I had my soul sucking sticks.

I thought about the night in the car, when my confession was nearly spilled.

I walked out the backdoor heading across the grounds to the parking lot.

I thought about Howell’s face as I had curled him into my arms.

I spotted my car, Howell’s back against it.

I thought about how remarkable it would be to have his face so close to mine.

I-

I came to an abrupt hault.

Standing no more than a hundred feet away was Howell leaning against my car and Logan-

I watched them, Howell pressing himself against the car- Logan standing way too close to Howell.

I watched as Howell shook his head.

I watched as Logan leaned in closer.

I watched Howell’s head shaking get more frantic.

I watched Logan slowly tilt his head towards Howell’s and- no.

I was frozen, the absurdity of it all, the only thing that was registering at the moment.

I swivelled my head around, trying to see if anyone else was watching them- this complete madness that was taking place. I didn’t see anyone around, the place deserted until-

I spotted Eli.

He was on the opposite side of the lot, close enough that I could register the complete disgust in his face. We made eye contact, each of us expressing different levels of distress.

I saw him turn and run, something I wished I could make my feet do.

I looked back at the pair, Logan no where to be seen, Howell still pressing himself into the door of the car, as if he wanted to meld himself with it.

I felt betrayed.

I felt hurt, my pride and my heart.

I did what a coward like Eli did.

I turned and ran away.

 

* * *

 

“Calling again I see? I didn’t realize you were so needy. And so prone to getting yourself into such dramatic situations.”

I slid against the wall of the bathroom, my back slowly descending until my butt hit the ground.

“I need more help.”

“Don’t you always?” said the familiar Russian accent.

I closed my eyes. “Don’t be mean, this is important.”

“Sorry,” the woman said, crunching something that sounded like almonds. “I forgot you were so sensitive.”

“So what should I do?”

“About the sad boy? Or the angry one? Or the voyeuristic one?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Be serious,” I said, adding after a moment. “Please.”

I heard her heavy breathing on the other line.

“Well, I think the most obvious course of action would be to just talk to the boy.”

“Which one? Loga- I mean the angry one?”

“No, I don’t that will do you much good. No, I meant the sad, pretty one you have love eyes for.”

“... I don’t have love eyes for him…” I mumbled.

“You should be gentle. Most likely this is just a misunderstanding.”

I sighed. Everything always seemed to be a misunderstanding.

“Alright. Thanks for your help and… yeah.” I said lamely.

“You’re very welcome.” she said before hanging up.

I turned off my phone and knocked my head against the wall. I was so tired of always having to make things up with Howell. I wish he and I could just communicate so much more simply. I wish he could talk.

But however much Howell seemed to fill the silence, it always felt like I was the one with nothing to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN- 
> 
> hey everyone! thanks so much for the get well soon messages you guys left me, love you all dearly. also thank you for the 8.9k reads!!! YALL ARE CRAZY AWESOME! 
> 
> but srsly, what about that major plot twist. DAH FUQ LOGAN!!!??? 
> 
> sorry to everyone about how i've been really MIA lately. I've become really obsessed with K-Pop and one of my favorite bands was (and is) making their comeback this month, so I've be kind of preoccupied with that. AND IVE BEEN WRITING MY NEW PHANFIC WHICH I WILL POST ONCE I FINISH THIS ONE! it's a medieval themed one and dan is older and phil is a prince, i think you guys will like it. 
> 
> anyways in other news, whats your guys opinion on this whole book tour think going on with dan and phil? I personally am happy for them and excited for the book. However, i do agree that the book is a bit spendy and understand the notion that everyone feels they are selling out and conforming to the common youtube money making thing. HOWEVER however! I am holding all judgment until i actually see the book, because i have a feeling its going to be above par than normal youtuber books because dan and phil actually have some integrity. 
> 
> but tell me what you think and we can have a bant session :) 
> 
> <3 love you all and thank you for being so pacient with my major slow writing style :D 
> 
> TRANSLATION: 
> 
> (I didn't bother to translate the book in french because i thought it was too long of a passage)
> 
> pourquoi ces sortes de choses arrivent toujours à nous? = why these kinds of things always happen to us?
> 
>  
> 
> Xxx- Eddy


	9. Chapter Nine - Dan

Chapter Nine - Dan:

 

I could still taste him, the bitter musky scent that was distinctly boy. I could still feel where his lips smashed against mine, where his hands had squeezed my arms in a viper grip- trying to prevent me from running or himself, I probably would never know.

I tilted my head and rested it against the car, not really minding that Phil was later than he said he would be. My breath was still slightly hitched from when Logan had invaded my personal space, everything about that moment like sticky, sweet cough syrup.

I looked up at the puffy clouds, mind reeling- confusion and fantasy running a muck in my brain.

Ultimately, it hadn’t come as that big of a shock- I’d known what was going to happen the moment Logan had slammed me up against the car, whispering taunts into my ear, his breath ghosting disgustingly over the side of my neck. The kiss had been equally foul, and yet the contact of another boy had left me breathless nonetheless.

It was pathetic.

I continued squinting at the sky, counting all the reasons I didn’t deserve Phil.

Oh god, Phil.

I closed my eyes, my cheeks already growing red. I hoped so badly that he hadn’t seen that. Not only was it completely mortifying, but I knew that he would think- that he might assume-

I heard rapid footsteps striding towards me, the gravel crunching angrily under his feet.

They stopped suddenly, the sound of controlled breathing only a few inches from me. I didn’t open my eyes.

“Howell.” Phil said.

I didn’t look at him.

“Howell.” His voice sounded like a command.

Slowly, I peeked through my lashes, looking up at him, his classic white t-shirt and black jeans with rips in the knees fitting him nicely. Like always. His hair was a mess, the blue tufts sticking up everywhere, making his eyes even more intense.

I looked down like the coward I was, shuffling my feet, my cheeks growing redder. I looked back up to scan his face, trying to tell whether or not he had seen what had happened earlier.

I couldn’t tell.

My eyes followed the wisps of his hair around his face. Without thinking, I stepped forward and began patting down his hair.

Phil’s eyes widened and he swore, taking a step back and grabbing my wrist tightly.

“God, Howell,” he said, his voice catching.

I bowed my head. Everything was always wrong between us. Can we go home now? I signed.

Phil paused, as if trying to figure a math problem in his head, but always coming up with the wrong answer.

Without warning, I was being spun around and slammed up against a “Student Only” parking sign, the pole pressing into my spine.

I cried out in pain as Phil shushed me.

“God, Howell!” he said, scrunching up his face, his form becoming wild and panicked. “Why is it always you?! Why you? What’s so fucking great about you? You’re not that different from everyone else- but I always need to protect you! Why can’t you- why can’t you-” his voice become more choked, as he held back tears.

I watched and listened silently as his cosmic explosion voice spout nonsense and as the delicate stems that kept him together split apart.

I was scared. And angry- angry that I was always the source of all the problems.

I pushed Phil, and he stumbled back at bit.

This isn’t my fault. I’m sorry I’m “not that great”, I signed, using quotation marks. I didn’t ask to be protected. I was doing just fine on my own. If I’m that much of a burden, you shouldn’t have put in so much effort in maintaining a- I paused the word “relationship” almost forming. -a friendship with me.

Phil narrowed his eyes, stepping back into my space. It felt nothing like when Logan had done the same thing earlier- my heart racing and hands sweating for entirely different reasons.

“Are you really that dense, Howell? Are you really that thick that you can’t figure it out for yourself? Why do you think I stood up for you that day in math class? Huh?!”

I don’t know, maybe if you were a little better at communicating, I would know! I signed, throwing my hands up at the end to express my exasperation.

I dropped my hands as Phil’s eyes became cold as ice.

Suddenly, Phil lunged at me, pushing at my chest until I tripped backwards onto the grass. I grabbed his sleeve, pulling Phil with me, tumbling in a jumble of limbs and sharp angles. It was like every other dumb fight we’d ever had all over again- Phil got scared and lashed out.

“Is that how someone gets closer to you?” Phil bit out. I looked up at Phil as he pinned my shoulders with his hands and my thighs with his knees.

“That’s really how someone gets closer to you, by communicating? Because it seems to me that whenever I try, you shut me down! You pride yourself on your secrets, that no one knows you except you. You like to hide everything away and bottle it up, throwing yourself a pity party every now and then when you don’t feels like you have enough attention.”

I felt something heavy and crushing settle itself into my heart. Phil must have seem it too, because his eyes sharpened, like Sherlock finding the final clue for that made the case.

“Oh, hit a little too close to home, have I?” Phil said sneering. “You are desperate for attention, aren’t you? Is that why you do impulsive things like kiss Logan, but won't let people who actually like you get near to you?!”

Phil’s fingers seemed to be detached from his body as they crawled up to my face, brushing against my flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips.

“How is Logan?” Phil said, still mocking me. I felt like I was going to cry.

“How’s our beloved Logan, Dan?” Phil said louder. “Is he as good as a kisser as everyone says he is?” I could hear his anger wavering. I could feel him shaking, the realization of the damage he’d done was finally settling into his conscious- the urge to run coursing through him.

I shook my head.

Phil stared at me- his face was scared, as scared as I felt inside. He looked like a kid who’d gotten caught taking cookies when his mum had already side no. Only this was much worse.

He began hitting his hands beside my head in frustration. “No, no, no, NO! Why do I always end up being the bad guy! That isn’t fair! It’s not fair that I have to watch you make out with some else and then have you go and-” he let out a choked sob, burying his face into my shoulder to hide his tears.

I could feel him scrunching his face against the crook of my neck. My arms itched to wrap around him as the laid pinned and splayed across the grass. I could feel his chest shaking as he tried to hold everything inside. Maybe Phil had a box marked “fragile” inside his chest, too. Maybe he had things he couldn’t talk about just yet. Maybe we were more alike than I first thought. Maybe it wasn’t that he was saving me, so much as we were disintegrating together.

I rolled my eyes at myself. Phil was right, I was a sap.

I was being rolled over, so Phil was underneath me now, my hands planted in the ground framing his head, my knees between his legs, his face turned- not looking at me.

Shocked, I stared at his profile, drawing his sharp jaw and chin and nose with my eyes, drawing the pointed plains of his cheekbones, and ignoring the wet blotches on his face.

“Sorry… I just- I don’t-” Phil started, still not looking at me- his face pensive and distance. “I don’t like… having power over you,” he said slowly.

I could tell he was trying to phrase this properly.

“I hate seeing you powerless… because I know it’s awful. I know it’s awful when people have control over you.”

For one terrifying moment, I thought he knew- about Aaron, and that night, and what we had done- what Aaron had made me do.

But I after a moment I realized he was telling his story, not mine, trying to gear himself up. Trying to communicate.

I waited for him to say more as I continued to draw his face in my mind.

“When I was Old Ph- in my old life,” he said taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes. “I was friends with these guys. They were terrible, their eyes always creeping down girls shirts, all black and beedy- the worst kind of boys. My family and I had just moved again, and I still don’t know why, but the guys took me under their wing.” Phil laughed at his joke, his voice completely devoid of humor.

“Maybe it was because I was young or new or just fucking stupid, but I followed them. I was their protoga, their student, their shadow. They would do something and I was expected to copy. I was theirs to control.”

I watched him swallow, his sharp adams apple looking like it would slice his throat.

“One day, when I was sitting in class with them, I saw these two boys in the back of the room and they were… you know… kissing.”

Phil turned to me then, eyes finding mine, and I didn’t have time to decide how my face should look.

“It was magical. I still remember it. I probably will always remember it. But, unfortunately, I also remember what happened after.”

He looked away again.

“The leader of our ‘pack’ had us wait until class ended and then we jumped them. They didn’t fight us, knowing full well like everyone else did, that they wouldn’t stand a chance. They just went limp, not making a sound as we dragged them into a closet. We stripped the two boys down, and tossed their clothes into the garbage can outside the door. We locked the door and then we left.”

I could hear the sorrow in his voice, the regret that could never be fixed. Oh Phil Lester, I thought sadly, What a troubled creature you are.

Just when I’d thought the story was over, he continued.

“I usually got picked up by my mom, so the others left without me, clapping hands and making dumb homophobic jokes. I waited until they were out of sight and then went and found the janitor. Normally, I didn’t interfere with my ‘friends’ plans, going home with a ball of worry in my stomach. But for some reason I couldn’t let this one go. The boys, they just- I need-”

Phil shook his head, as he still wasn’t sure why he did it.

“Anyways, the three morons never found out it was me. I went to the janitor, he got the key, and unlocked the door before giving me a look of disappointment as he left. And there I stood in the doorway, ashamed, holding the two boys clothes out to them like an offering as they stared curiously back at me.”

Phil cover his eyes with one of his arms, his elbow almost hitting me in the forehead.

“I remember one of them didn’t speak english, whispering urgently to his friend, asking what was going on. I still remember the other boy- though I never learned his name. I just remember his eyes sparkling as he reached and grabbed their clothes saying the only words I would never forget as long as I would live.”

I waited for Phil to tell me until it was apparent he wasn’t going to without some prompting.

I tapped on his chest. He didn’t budge. I tapped again, repeatedly and frantically, until he finally sighed and lifted his arm, his lips caught in a smirk.

“Did you want something?” he asked, playfully.

I flicked his nose. What did he say? The boy.

He put his arm back over his eyes. “Il est une bulle aussi.”

I tapped his chest again.

“It means ‘he’s a bubble, too’.” Phil said.

I stopped tapping.

I remembered the first time I’d gone to Phil’s house and he’d read me the story he’d written about the crow boys and their friends. My eyes widened in realization.

I punched him in the shoulder as I sat back on my heels. He yelped and sat up, bringing us almost nose to nose.

You’re the bubble in the story?! I mouthed frantically.

I saw his cheeks become pink as he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, our foreheads nearly touching.

Phil Lester was blushing.

And it’s was absolutely adorable.

“Yeah,” he said, dropping his hands in his lap, shoulders caving in on himself, head bowed. He looked so crestfallen, as if he expected me to be mad and betrayed that he hadn’t told me- but it was the complete opposite.

I thinking everything at once, all of my feelings for him, all of my affection for him trying to burst out of me.

I breathed very slowly, and tried to channel it into something I’d been practice for the past couple weeks. Something for Phil.

I took another deep breath before I said it.

Before I said it.

“Phil.”

It was awful. I was no more than a whisper, my scratchy, under used voice just barely getting the word out. My vocal chords felt stretched and raw, but it was enough.

Phil’s neck snapped up as he stared at me in awe. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

“What did you say?!” Phil said.

“Phil.” I said again, coming out worse than the first time.

Phil didn’t seem to care, his expression look as if  I’d given him the moon and the stars.

He laughed, his smile so wide I thought his seams would split again. He laughed wildly, like a crazy person, and I joined him- looking equally crazy with my silent convulsions- as he rocked us back and forth until we tumbled back on top of each other.

I smiled brightly at him as he smiled lazily back at me, laying on our sides. He reached up and tucking a lock of hair behind my ears, tracing my eyebrows, and brushing my eyelashes.

“You know, Dan?” he said, his face still maintaining that lazy grin, though I could still see the tension building around his eyes.

What? I mouthed nervously.

“I really like you. And I’m sorry about my awful timing, but would Daniel Howell do me the honor of letting me kiss you?”

I knew I was staring. But I couldn’t help it.

Phil was blushing again, and I could see him rethinking whether or not it was a good idea.

“I’m sorry!” he said backtracking. “It’s okay if you say no, I hope that we can still be friends thoug-”

I wanted Phil to stop talking.

I pressed a finger to his lips, and stroked his cheek with my shaking fingers.

He got the message.

We scooted closer until Phil’s mouth was pressed to mine, and I finally realized how many colored there really were. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse, only the next chapter. sorry i was gone for so long- school is a major writing kill if you know what i mean...


	10. Chapter Ten - Phil

Chapter Ten - Phil:

 

“I swear, you’re growing more limbs with every step,” I said, boosting Howell’s weight higher from where it rested on my hips. My palms were clammy as I held onto the backs of his knees, his arms wrapped around my neck comfortably, while his tuffs of hair tickled the edges of my jaw.

I honestly don’t know how I got corralled into giving out a piggyback ride.

Howell stuck his hand in front of my face.

 _If your car wasn’t such a hunk of junk, this wouldn’t have happened_ , he signed.

“It is not a hunk of junk!” I shouted indignantly. “And besides, I can recall many times where that _‘hunk of junk’_ came in handy- like that day I found you wandering aimlessly around town before school.”

I could feel Howell smile against the back of my neck- he was happy that I remembered.

He sobered quickly though, his mind wandering elsewhere.

I knew we were both thinking about it.

The kiss.

It still felt weird- to even think the word. And embarrassing.

I couldn’t believe I’d asked that.

_Would you, Daniel Howell do me the honor of letting me kiss you?_

Ew, god, I sounded like I was from the futuristic Downton Abbey world with that pretentious question. I kind of wanted to throw up.

I continued carrying Howell, both of us keeping to ourselves.

But… however much it made me disgusted with myself, that kiss-

It was nice. It was soft and warm and gentle- everything I saw in Howell- everything I wasn’t.

It made me feel out of my element- like I was finally both New and Old Phil again.

Of course, after the kiss was awkward. Neither of us knew where to look, and I being who I am, shut down all possibilities of discussion.

We’d both laid frozen for a moment, my hand still tucking a lock behind Howell’s ear, his fisted in the front of my shirt, before I’d hauled us both to our feet.

Howell had taken but one step before he tumbled back into my chest.

“Desperate much?” I’d asked smiling gently, trying not to scare him off- god anything thing but that.

Howell had blushed, signing with a shaky hand, _I think I’ve twisted my ankle._

I’d shaken my head chuckling at his clumsiness, his injury probably due to when he tackled me and we’d-

I stopped smiling.

“Come on,” I’d offered, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, crushing his body against my side as we hobbled over to the car.

Only to find it dead, as I turned the key repeatedly in the ignition.

Perfect.

I’d pinched the bridge of my nose, as Howell leaned against the car for support.

“Our houses are just a couple miles away,” I’d said turning to him. “We can walk, or _I_ can at least. Come here.”

I’d motioned for him to get onto my back, smiling when his cheeks had started to prickle pink.

Which was how we found ourselves in this current position- Howell on my back, with a mile or so to go until we were home.

“Hey,” I said, my voice winded. “Could you walk for a bit. I know you’re crippled now but my back is _killing_ me.”

Howell snorted as I came to a halt, and he slid down my back onto his feet.

I definitely didn’t notice the way his chest moved across my back.

Nor the way his fragile hands gripped my waist to stabilize himself.

I didn’t even notice the way he blushed as he looked down at his hands, before darting his eyes to the ground.

Okay- maybe I did notice that.

I ran a hand through my pale blue hair, and looked around as we stood in the middle of the deserted road.

“Come on, this way,” I said taking Howell’s hand as I started walking. “It’s going to get dark soon.”

I definitely didn’t notice that small smile of hope that crept onto his face.

We walked in silence for a ways, something that had become the norm between us. I wondered if we would ever voice the unspoken words that always floated between us. If we would ever really know the true, deeply fragile parts of the other.

I looked up at the sky, the clouds slowly fading to pink, mixing with the blue, looking like an explosion, or Howell’s cheeks when he blushed. I squeezed his hand tighter in mine. I wondered what he saw when he looked at the sky, if his artist’s mind caught something I didn’t, something I was missing. Some hidden clue that made his world magical.

I felt Howell stop beside me, pulling his hand out of mine.

I turned to look at him, his hands playing with the hem of his sweater, his shoulder nearly slipping out of the neck hole.

He licked his lips. “Phil.” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

I widened my eyes, stepping up closer to him. I don’t think I would ever get used to him speaking.

“Yes?” I whispered, bowing my head and knocking foreheads with him.

“I-” he struggled to make the sounds, his lips shaking. “I need- I- tell you-”

He coughed, rubbing his throat with one of his sweater paws.

“What do you need to tell me?” I asked softly, trying to patch his sentences together. If I could, I would stay like this forever, Howell’s face close enough to touch, to count his eyelashes, to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

I hooked my finger on the neck of his sweater, and hoisted it over his shoulder.

He shuddered, and took a step back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, slightly wounded.

Howell shook his head as he reached into his pockets, pulling out a folded up piece of notebook paper. No- wait- sketchbook paper.

He fiddled with his in his hands. I could see his whole body trembling.

“Howell?”

He didn’t look at me.

“Dan?” he paused, still not looking as he extended his hand with the piece of paper clenched inside.

I took it, my eyes never leaving his face.  

Slowly I unfolded it, once, twice, thrice-

I felt Howell grab my arm suddenly. He was looking wild, like an animal whose cage door had just been opened- unsure whether to flee or cower.

 _Please don’t,_ he signed. _Please don’t think too poorly of me after this._

I looked at him puzzled, before he retracted his hand, and I unfolded to note completely.

It wasn’t a drawing.

It looked like a notebook entry, the date at the top reading a little over two years ago. The edges were worn and the ink smudged, something faded red staining the bottom corner.

 _Dear friend,_ it read. The handwriting was wobbly, as if when writing, the person's hands had been shaking, smudged a bit from when the back their hand crossed over the letters as they wrote.

_I think this is it. This is my last cry for help- my only cry for help. I didn’t know everything would turn out as it did- I didn’t know Aaron was capable of this. I’ve been crying for hours- still am. I wouldn’t tell my parents why. I couldn’t- not with his voice calling in my head. Thank god they didn’t notice the suspicious bulges on my thighs and arms- where the bandages were wrapped, seeping into red._

_I feel tainted,_

_and disgusting,_

_and dirty._

_I don’t know if I can even describe the events that took place._

_I don’t know if I can recall without-_

The next part was scribbled over, unreadable.

_I’d known Aaron was troubled- I just don’t think I understood how unstable._

_I don’t know what happened, one minute we were talking, he was touching my face, so gentle. And then the next he was asking me weird questions._

_“Do you love me?” he’d asked. I’d responded “of course, do you love me?”- and he’d just smiled and said nothing. That should have been my first sign._

_Then he asked me if I would do anything for him, if I would go to the ends of the worlds for him. I told he I would._

_I was so blinding in love. No- not love- obsession._

The word “obsession” had been written so hard it tore through the paper.

_So when he asked me to follow him because he “had something to show me” I didn’t think anything of it. Why would I?_

_But he-_ more scribbled out writing _-lead me into the bathroom, oh god._

There were a bunch of scribbles.

_He was touching me, pushing me into the bathroom, pushing me into the tub. I still feel cold from the shallow water. I was panicking, asking him what was going on. He just kept say I deserved it. “You love me right? You need to be one with me, feel my pain, my suffering. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”_

_In that moment-_

More scribbling.

_In that moment I knew what was going to happen before it did. I saw what was in his hands, the ones that had touched me so gently becoming nothing more than claws tearing me apart. There was so much blood I-_

_Everything hurts. And now, just now we got the call. Aaron’s dead. And I’m numb._

More scribbles.

_One day, I think I’ll write everything that happened in that bathroom down. And then I’ll throw it in the fire and never tell it to anyone. No- I’m not even going to speak to anyone because I-_

The page ended. I turned the paper over but there was no more writing.

My hands were shaking hard, my entire body felt coiled like a spring.

“Howell,” I said slowly, failing to keep the complete rage out of my voice. “What. The _fuck_. Is this?”

I looked up at him and then wish I hadn’t.

His shoulders were hunched, his arms wrapped around himself, body shaking uncontrollably. His face looked like a child’s finger painting, all the colors running down his pale face. He looked young and pitiful, and hollow- like an abandoned toy.

I didn’t think twice, pulling him into my chest, holding him tightly, so tightly. The night was closing in around us, rain starting to _patter_ , and I could feel Howell’s box inside himself, the one he kept all his fragile things inside, being ripped open.

And I didn’t have enough fingers to count the amount of things I wanted to say, to make everything better.

I didn’t know what to make of the letter- the more I thought about it the angrier I got. I knew I wasn’t going to get answers now. This wasn’t something I could just yell at Howell about until he accidently gave me the answer I was looking for. No. This was something much scarier, darker. Something I had to proceed with caution.

“Shhh,” I whispered into Howell’s matted hair. “Shhh, it’s alright, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

He sniffled into the crook of my neck.

“Hey, you remember what I told you about the crows? The story about how they made me their friend and tormented people?” I asked, trying to distract Howell.

He nodded his head slowly.

“Well, I forced myself to remember those things. And not out of self pity so I could beat myself up over it or for revenge, nothing stupid like that. No, I remember because I’m not going to become something like that. I’m not going to be a tool who belittles and patronizes people, or someone who cowered in fear of those who are stronger. I’m going to be better, be something they wish they could be. I’m not going to be a monster like them.”

I felt Howell let out another sob. I didn’t think I was helping.

“Hey, come on, let’s go home- to my house- and we can talk there, okay?”

Howell nudged his head in agreement.

He made a startled yelp noise as I picked him up, jostling him and wrapping his legs around my waist, like one would carry a baby on their hip.

“Let’s get you home,” I breathed, and started walking again.

As Howell whimpered, I felt tired. I was tired of the hidden words that we never told each other. I was tired of the cautious footsteps we always took around each other. I was tired of our days with one another always ending in a fight or tears.

For once I want Howell to hold _me_ in his arms and let me tell him all the things I kept inside. All the little things I never mentioned, even when they were as frivolous as me telling him his hair looked nice.

Howell told me that I didn’t trust easily, but that’s not true.

I just wonder sometimes if he’s better at speaking his mind then I am.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: 
> 
> first chapter as promised at eight. next one should be coming in the next few minutes. 
> 
> thanks for putting up with me guys. 
> 
> ALSO DID YALL SEE DAN"S FUCKING INSTAGRAM POST???? ICH BIN IN DICH???? I WAS LIKE "DID HE MEAN ICH HABE DICH?!" 
> 
> he is secret one of my readers. totally confirmed. 
> 
> -Xxx Eden


	11. Chapter Eleven - Dan

Chapter Eleven - Dan:

 

“I called you parents to tell them you were alright,” Phil said, coming back into his bedroom, drying his hair with a towel.

_I couldn’t believe I told him._

“Oh, and mum’s buying pizza for us.”

_Of all the fucking stupid things to do._

“Howell?”

_I can’t believe I did it._

“Howell.”

_I just-_

“Howell!”

I raised my eyes, chin resting on my knees, arms wrapped around my legs. I blew out a breath, my fringe flopping back over my eyes.

“You alright?”

I nodded. I really didn’t want to be having this conversation. I knew that the entry I’d given him was vague at best, not giving any detail into what actually occurred, but I just could bring myself to.

 _I’m fine_ , I signed.

Phil snorted. “Like hell you are.” He made a face. “Please talk to me.”

I looked back up at him through my fringe, the towel slung around his neck, his hands tightly clenching each end.

“You know I never ask you to talk about anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he whispered. “But this…” he trailed off.

“This is important. I want to know- no- I _need_ to know what happened that night. In the bathroom. However sappy that sounds.”

I shook my head, testing my voice. “I can’t.” I breathed out.

In a flash, Phil was in front of me, bending down and taking my hand, and lifting my chin. My fingers were swallowed in his grasp, his hands so much bigger than mine.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

I felt something warm set itself into my chest. It was the same feeling I’d been having all week- well more like all the time I’ve spent around Phil- everytime Phil brushed against me accidentally, or when he let me borrow his clothes that smelt of him- laundry soap and boy and something distinctly Phil- or when he would say things like he did now, making my heart flutter. Almost like it wanted to escape from my chest and stay nestled in his.

I blushed at my silly thoughts, and nodded at Phil.  

He tugged my arms, pulling me into a standing position, walking backwards as he pulled me out of his room, and into his small bathroom.

I took a sharp breath, my body already panicking.

“Shhh,” Phil said, squeezing my hands, staring at my eyes curiously. “I just want to try something. Hey, shhh, you’re okay.”

I shook my head. _No, this was wrong. I had to get out of here, I couldn’t be in here. No!_

I managed to struggle out of Phil’s grasp, only to be pulled back into his arms, my back to his chest, his breath ghosting over my neck and ears.

I gasped, my vision of reality overlapping with the events of two years ago.

**(Trigger Warning: references to cutting, suicide and death)**

“Howell,” Aaron said, Phil’s breath on my neck being replaced by _his_. “I’m going to get you, Hooooowwwelll.”

I let out a sob.

“Howell, I know you love painting. How about I paint you a pretty picture. It’ll have to be monochromatic though, because all I have is red. Sorry, Howelly.”

I could hear the smile in his voice as he giggled, the pricks of something sharp digging into my arms and legs, as liquid trickled from my body, leaving me feeling weightless.

“I’m in pain, Danny,” Aaron hissed. “So you should feel pain, too.”

“No,” I moaned. “Please, I’ve been hurting for so long. Please stop.”

“Howell,” Aaron said. “Do you know how I felt destroying you that night?”

I didn’t answer.

“I felt elated, I was given so much power. Power over you.”

“Stop,” I cried.

“And then I killed myself. Probably all your fault, Danny.”

“No.”

“I’m never going to leave you. I’ll always be the monster in your closet.”

I heard him laugh.

Something began to surface in the back my mind. Something Phil had said on the walk back. _I remember because I’m not going to become something like that. I’m going to be better, be something they wish they could be. I’m not going to be a monster like them._

I was so tired of living in fear of someone who only existed in my head. I was tired of never being able to love myself, of always having to justify the cruelty others and I put upon myself, because I “deserved it”. I was tired of Phil always having something akin to pity in his eyes when he looked at me. I was tired of always trying to protect the box of fragile things inside me, afraid of them spilling over.

I was tired of living like the memory was happening now, instead of being just that: a memory.

I began to understand what Ms. Kelly had told me when I first went to see her, and I’d refused to answer any of her questions.

“Well,” she’d said in her relentlessly patient voice. “If you won’t answer my questions about that night, why don’t you try answering this instead: our strongest memories are usually our worst because of the strong emotion connected to it- fear. So why is it then, if love is our strongest emotion, that you are more susceptible to this nightmare you keep living, instead of the lovely memories surrounding you?”

At the time I’d had no answer. But now that I thought about it, I knew: I relived this nightmare _because_ I’d loved Aaron. I’d loved him with all my heart, with my entire being, which was why I couldn’t let him go.

Even after all he did, I could never let him go. He would always be a part of my history. Even if I never could remember the good things. Even if I could remember that one night that tainted my memory of him forever. And tainted me.

_I remember because I’m not going to become something like that._

Oh Phil… Phil was so good to me. He treated me like I was something that had been kept hidden from the world, collecting dust, only to be found again. He always smiled that lopsided grin at me, sometimes his tongue poking out at the corner. He was my friendly ghost, a giant puffy cloud on a summer’s day, his skin almost transparently white, his eyes like the sky, two tiny bits of blue trying to peek through. That was where he keep his secrets, I was sure- his eyes only giving you a glimpse to the hidden dreams inside.

I liked Phil- there was no denying it- it was obvious. I’d liked him since the first day I’d met him.

“Aaron and Philly sitting in a tree, k-i-l-l-i-n-g,” I heard Aaron mumble in jealousy.

Again I felt the tiredness seeping into my bones, my skin, my _blood_.

If only I loved him more than Aaron, then I-

Wait.

I could feel my mind whirling, like the rush I got when I looked at someone and knew I had to draw them.

Maybe that was the answer.

For two years, I’d been pining over a dead psychopath who haunted me at every turn.

_Smooth moves, Dan._

But recently, Phil had been taking up more space in my head and in my heart. Was it possible that I could squeeze Aaron out? That instead of waking up thinking of cold, dead eyes, I could wake up to bright, blue ones?

_Was I in love with Phil?_

I could feel something stirring inside my heart.

“Danny, don’t leave me,” Aaron said, sounding scared.

I could feel something tugging, like a cord stretched tight. _Yes,_ I thought. _I was._

I felt something snap in my chest, something warm and cold dripping down my left breast bone, running out down my chest, and finally, down the drain.

“Danny!” Aaron called, his voice fading with each cry.

“Danny!”

“Dan!”

“ _Dan!_ ”

My eyes flickered open.

**(End of Trigger Warning)**

There was water surrounding me, sloshing about, as Phil and I sat in the cramped bathtub. My knees were raised in front of me, Phil legs framing mine, his chest pressed in my back and his arms around me. My breathing was shallow, as was Phil’s, his forehead resting against the back of my head.

I was sitting in a bathtub, in water, in the bathroom and I felt… nothing. Of course, I still felt a prickle on the back of my neck thinking Aaron’s watchful eyes were on me, and the ghost of his cold metal tools on my skin, but I didn’t feel the fluttering panic in my chest like I always did.

“Dan…” Phil breathed.

I tapped Phil’s knee. _You called me ‘Dan’,_  I signed, trying to ignore the shaking of my fingers.

Phil chuckled breathily. “I didn’t think this was really a time for formalities.”

I made a noise that was a cross between laugh and a hum. I tapped Phil’s knee again. _What happened?_ I signed.

I felt his breath tickle my neck.

“You… I brought you in here and then you just kind of spaced out, crying out for that fucking Aaron guy… I thought that maybe if…”

I could feel Phil’s heart pounding as quick as mine.

“... After I’d rescued those two boys that were, you know, kissing? Well, the crows found out. Suddenly I was being pushed into closets, being told that’s where I belonged and all, being called ‘fag’ and other nasty things.”

I didn’t know why Phil was telling me this.

“I went to see a counselor shortly after that- once my parents had found out what was going on.”

I turned my head to look at him surprised.

 _I didn’t know you had a counselor,_ I signed.

He smiled. “You never asked.”

I smiled back softly.

“In my last session I asked her if she ever got any ‘crazies’,” Phil continued, using air quotes on the word “crazies”.

I glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, I was eleven.”

I snorted.

“Anyways, she’d laughed and told me she got all kinds of people, with all sorts of problem. Then I asked her what was the best advice she’d ever giving someone. She told me that a lot of people she talked to had troubles with their past, that they were constantly reliving it in their head. She’d said that she always told her patients that in order to get past the event, they had to accept it. They were spending everyday in fear of reliving it, but silently reliving it always in their mind. She said I they had to find a way to ‘face their fear, however that might be’.”

I nodded.

“I thought that maybe if you relived your memory for real, instead of in your head, that it might help you overcome it- but now that I’m saying it out loud that sounds completely fucking stupid. Oh my god, I’m such a moron. How am I even your friend, Jesus Christ.”

I sat stunned before I started laughing.

I laughed

and I laughed

and I laughed

and I laughed until tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t know what was funny- nothing really was.

I think I was just happy. Happy that the Aaron thing was over for the time being, that Phil and I were okay, that Phil had finally come to the realization that he was indeed a moron sometimes.

I wiped my eyes with one of my raisiny fingers, and looked back at Phil.

 _You are an amazing creature, Philip Lester._ I signed.

He looked at me oddly. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I know even when you get your voice there are going to be things that we never talk about,” he blurted. “But i hope-” he paused. “I hope that you will always know that I will be here to listen.”

I felt that warm feeling in my chest again.

“Can I kiss you?” Phil asked quietly, everything about him soft and safe.

I nodded, as he leaned down to press our lips together.

I was scared now, as I sat in the bathtub, lips caught in Phils- but this time it was for different reason. I was no longer worried about being bound by Aaron's will, but by Phil’s.

If my memories of him were what kept me sane, what would happen if he left?

 

* * *

 

We laid in Phil’s bed, finally dry from the rain and our bathroom adventure. Our hands were intertwined, our legs tangled, and foreheads touching. The warm feeling was ablaze in my chest.

Phil let out a breath, blowing the fringe out of my eyes. I smiled at him.

“Look,” he said. “I know this isn’t really my forte, so just bear with me.”

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking at him curiously.

He took a deep breath and said, “I want to talk about what’s going on between us.”

I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. I wasn’t used to Phil being so confrontational when it came to things like “feelings”.

It must have shown on my face because Phil said, “But only this once.”

I nodded waiting for him to continue.

“I… I think we both know that you’ve had a thing for me for a while. Although I’m still not sure if it’s because you want to draw my eyes or you actually are just into me.”

I felt myself blush as I ducked my head, smiling sheepishly at Phil.

“I know,” he said smirking. “I’m irresistible.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved his arm.

 _Oh shove off,_ I signed.

He smiled, but his eyes were far away again. “But in all seriousness, I really do like you Dan.”

I felt winded. It all felt so much more real when Phil said those six words, like everything I’d been feeling for the past months was somehow justified in that sentence.

“I like that you don’t let me push you around, like that time you punched me in the face and I had a black eye for a week,” he said smiling fondly, rubbing the corner of his eye. “I like that you’ll let me hold you and tuck your hair behind your ears for you. I like when you blush that pretty pink color all the way from your ears-” I felt Phil’s finger poke the tip of my left ear, “- all the way down to your collarbones.” I felt him trace his finger down my jaw to the base of my throat, to the top of my collarbone.

I swallowed, feeling like a thousand degrees were on me.

Phil flickered his eyes from his finger to my wide eyes. “I like when I make you embarrassed, and when I make you so happy that you smile so wide your eyes smile too. I like when you wear my sweaters and the sleeves are too long. I like when you let me cheer you up when you are sad.”

“But most of all,” Phil whispered, leaning in until his lips brushed my ear. “I like that I might falling for you harder than either of us may know.”

I felt Phil lean back on his heels as I let out a shaky breath.

I looked at him as he looked back at me.

“I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life and done a lot of things I regret. I’ve kissed a lot of girls but I’ve never- never _been_ with anyone. Sexually.”

I gaped at Phil as I realized what he meant. _He’d never done it with-_ Oh boy. I felt a weight I hadn’t even known was there being lifted from my heart. I felt light headed.

He cleared his throat. “Um, I’ll be slow probably, unlike you…”

I tilted my head at him confused, until I realized what he’d implied.

 _Ah, no, no!_ I signed shaking my head. _Aaron and I- we never-_ I blushed.

“Oh,” Phil said raising his eyebrows, nodding. “Okay.”

I nodded back, feeling awkward.

“Well, anyways, regardless of those kinds of things, I want to treat you right. I know I’m not always a good person, but I’m not a liar. I won’t hurt you. Ever. You are everything to me. You are perfect. And before you say anything, yes, I know perfection is a matter of opinion. But in my opinion, you are the most beautiful, gentle, and wonder boy I have ever met. And what could be more perfect than that?”

I stared at him like he’d sprouted another head.

He was insane.

He was beyond crazy.

He was practically a raving lunatic.

But I was totally infatuated with him.

 _Philip Lester,_ I signed slowly. _Who knew you were such a sap?_

He rolled his eyes, before pinning me with another one of his stares.

I licked my lips and let out a shaky breath.

“So, what do you say?” Phil asked, looking down, rubbing his arm with one hand, and looking almost… _nervous_. “I confessed. What’s your answer?”

Suddenly he looked scared. As if he really didn’t think he wanted to know.

I took a deep breath, and licked my lips again.

“Ich… mag dich,” I breathed.

And Phil’s entire face lit up. Like that was all he could ever ask for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: 
> 
> Surprise update! sooner than y'all thought huh? 
> 
> i'm trying to be more consistent. 
> 
> also good/sad news! ONLY FOUR CHAPTERS LEFT GUYS!!!!! 
> 
> after this fic i'll be posting another phanfic ( the medieval one i keep talking about)
> 
> LOOK FORWARD TO IT! 
> 
> alright i love you and thank you SO FREAKIN MUCH for 8k hits! ITS FLIPPING CRAZY! 
> 
> i remember when I only had like 200 reads and i was like *insert horn sounds and #get reked and the glasses come down* 
> 
> wow 
> 
> alright hearts and kisses and hugs and all that jazz! 
> 
> TRANSLATION: Ich mag dich - I like you
> 
> -Xxx Eden


	12. Chapter Twelve - Phil

Chapter Twelve - Phil:

 

As Howell slept on my bed, duvet tucked under his chin, I began writing him a story. It was about a small boy with unnoticed beauty, and a big jerk with blue eyes, matching blue hair and a punk deminer. It was about them and how they accidently found themselves tangled in feelings, and how they met strangers who helped tangle them even closer together.

Then I crumpled it up and shoved it into a drawer because it sounded completely pretentious and irritating.

The next morning, I awoke still seated at my desk, legs cramped and neck sore as I lifted my head up and slipped my arms underneath it. I gazed at Howell from where I sat, enjoying the soft, fluffy, morning version of him.

Slowly I got up and headed down to the kitchen to make a bowl of cereal, thinking about the night before as I poured the milk. _Chew, think. Chew, think. Pause. Spoon, chew, think._

After I was finished, I dumped my bowl into the sink and headed up the stairs to wake Howell.

We went drove to school like nothing unusual had happened. Like we hadn’t confessed our greats most treasured thoughts and desires, like we hadn’t just poured our hearts out into the others hands, like we hadn’t filled a bathtub full of tears.

I could tell, as I parked, that Howell need something- either clarified or answered. But I pretended like I hadn’t noticed as we continued discussing the differences between films and novels.

 _But you can’t know everything the character’s thinking,_ Howell complained, as he got out of the car and shut the door.

“Sure you can,” I said, repeating his action and locking the car. “That’s why they have narrators.”

Howell rolled his eyes, like I was the biggest idiot alive. _Obviously, but what about everything the character thinks about their surroundings. Like let’s say they see a really beautiful person, and describe their eyes in the most beautiful way. You can’t translate that into an image no matter how hard you try._

“Okay, fine, I’ll give you that. But what about the flip side?” I said, slinging my arm around Howell’s shoulder as he cross in front of the car to me. I could see his small smile on his pretty lips, holding his books to his chest, pressing his side into mine as we clumsily continued on. I felt like we were Hermione and Ron, and at any moment he was going to scold me, telling me it was pronounced “Levi _O_ sa, not Leviosa”.

“What if you have the most beautiful person and you can’t describe them in words? What if they’re so stunning that it’s a ‘you had to be there’ type of deal? Huh?”

Howell rolled his eyes again, and shook his head. _Fine, I say we’re at a tie._

I laughed. “I can never win with you, can I?”

He smiled.

We kept walking, weaving between cars, almost out of the parking lot. As we pass one, my eyes glanced over the windshield, only for me to do a doubletake. There in the front and passenger seats, sat Logan and Eli. Making out.

I looked away quickly, smiling dumbly. _Well_ , that _sure explains a lot._

Howell looked up at me and asked what I was smiling about. I said “nothing” and smiled even more.

 

* * *

 

During math class, Howell was fidgety.

Like, _really_ fidgety.

He was tapping his feet, drumming his fingers on the table, pencil making markings across the page of his sketchbook, shaping nothing in mind. He wouldn’t maintain eye contact with me for long, looking back at me before looking down, brow furrowed, and then looking to the front of the room where Ms. Lewis sat, waiting for our tests to be handed in. Logan and Eli were conveniently not there, but I had a feeling I knew what they were _up_ to.

_Look back._

_Down._

_Furrow brow._

_Windows._

_Look back._

_Down._

_Furrow brow._

_Windows._

_Look back._

_Down-_

I rolled my eyes and sighed, crumpled up a teared out piece of paper, and chucked it at Howell's head.

He looked up at me with eyebrows raised.

 _What's the matter?_ I signed.

He jerked his head back down so fast I thought it might have snapped.

 _Nothing_ , he signed, not making eye contact. _Why do you ask?_

 _Well_ , I signed with one hand, the other tapping a pencil on his desk. _You won't look at me._

I gazed at him from under my eyelashes. "You always look at me," I whispered.

Howell's entire face flushed, his ears included, fingers twitching and clenching as he held them together.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up at me, making my heart feel as though it was slipping through my chest and into his shaking hands.

 _You just seem so down_ , I signed.

 _I have a lot on my mind since yesterday,_ Howell signed simply, looking away again.

“Hopefully it’s not that tool Aaron,” I whispered angrily.

I saw him flinch and I had a moment of regret. Of course things were getting better- however there wasn’t any need to push my luck.

“Sorry…” I mumbled, stretching my feet out underneath my desk and out the side to nudge Howell’s chair.

 _One day at a time Phil,_ he signed.

I nodded, resting my elbow on my desk, propping my chin in my palm, looking the other way.

Yesterday Howell had told me one of his biggest secrets, one that only he and I would be privy to. After his episode in the bathtub- due to my poor judgement- he’d told me about his relationship with Aaron. How they’d met and fallen into a sick, twisted love. How Howell had begun to notice over time that Aaron was slightly off, but ignored it. How one night out of his own hysteria and insanity, Aaron had taken a blade to Howell, and then later that night out of grief and regret, he’d taken the same blade to himself. At Aaron’s funeral, that’s when Howell’s visions of Aaron began to start.

 _Then_ , Howell had explained, _it was as if my brain couldn’t cope with his leaving, and could only manage to keep his memory alive in the most detrimental and rudimentary way: fear._

For two years, Howell never could look at bathrooms without seeing hurt and pain.

For two years, Howell never could trust someone else.

For two years, Howell never could leave the shadow Aaron had cast over him, his presence keeping a strangling hold on Howell’s life.

For two years, Howell never said a word.

 _It was as if I didn’t have anything to say, and everything in the world to say all at once,_ Howell had said. _On one hand I didn’t want to make the blow of losing Aaron any worse, but on the other hand, I selfishly didn’t want to be the only one reliving it. So I made a pact with myself: the day someone could take me into their arms and cure me without words, understand me without having to speak, I would tell them everything._

That was quite a burden to put on another, and the fact that I’d managed the unspoken request made me all the more jittery.

I didn’t want to deal with school right now.

I didn’t want to be taking this fucking test right now.

I want to be with Howell.

As if answering my prayer, the bell rang as Ms. Lewis droned, “Hand in your tests, even if you’re not done,” as we all slipped out the door.

“Howell,” I called as I exited the doorway. He turned looking around as I grabbed his arm, and pulled him along with me as we made our way through the throng of people.

I pulled him out one of the side doors towards the parking lot. I marched us to my car, before I swung him around and pressed him up against the side of my car. I placed a hand next to his head, our thighs brushing, trapping him.

He looked at me, eyes wide and nervous.

“Tu savez combien je t'aime, non?” ( _You know how much I love you, no?_ )

Howell’s eyes widened further. You didn’t need advanced french to understand that.

I planted a quick kiss on the inside of his neck and felt his breath hitch in a small “oh”.

“Scared, Potter?” I chastised playfully.

I felt his breathy laugh, as one of his hands pushed me back a bit.

 _Is this what we’re being reduced to?_ he signed. _Cheesy Harry Potter pick up lines?_

“Pretty much.”

He laughed before sighing, as he reached out his hands to hold me closer. He nuzzled his face into my neck.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Scared.”

I felt myself shudder, as I held even closer, wishing on every star and superhero comic I read as a kid to protect this boy.

“Well,” I said, stepping away from Howell, as I made my way to the driver side. “Let’s go somewhere to take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.”

Howell looked puzzled. _But school…_

“Fuck school,” I said snorting, leaning my arm on the ajar car door, and resting my chin on top. “It’s time for an adventure.”

Howell offered me a small smile, before opening the passenger door and sliding in.

“Yes!” I said with a fist pump, as I flopped in and started the car.

 _But I have to be home before dinner,_ Howell signed.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, turning around as I backed the car up. “We wouldn’t want you to turn back into a pumpkin, now would we?”

Howell laughed.

 

* * *

 

I could taste the salt in the air as it whipped through my car window and into my hair, making the strands all sticky.

The ocean was bright and sparkly, the sun reflecting off the waves seem almost crystal white. The sand was just as bright, the entire bay seeming like it was covered in fresh fallen snow.

Howell had the face of a child given a handful of candy- no- the entire candy shop. His eyes were as wide as those Jumbo Smarties, and mouth with a smile brighter than the sea itself.

He was beautiful and darling.

And I was his for the day.

“So,” I said, parking the car. “What do you want to do first, Princess Howell?”

Howell made a face at me.

“What’s wrong Princess?”

 _Shut up, you jerk_ , Howell signed rolling his eyes, but the smile he wore betrayed him.

“You know you love me,” I said, giving him a peck on the cheek before I got out of the car.

I could see his ears flushing as I opened the trunk and pulled out swim trunks and beach towels.

“Here,” I said, tossing one of the pairs of trunks at him as he opened his door. “Put these on.”

He nodded, blushing again as he shut the door again.

Being the gentleman I was, I turned around to give him some more privacy.

I looked up at the sky watching the seagulls flying overhead with all the colorful kites, the sky looking like what I guessed Howell’s mind did.

I heard the car door open, signaling that Howell was finished changing.

“I was thinking that we cou-” the words got caught in my throat as I turned around.

Howell was in another one of my too-big sweaters that he slept in last night, the collum of his throat and sharp collarbones peaking out of the neck. The short were also a bit big, slipping down a bit, revealing an equally sharp hipbone.

But his _legs_ …

They were definitely tanner than mine, but not by much, his knees knobby and ankles prominent, freckles dotted haphazardly and carelessly. His thighs were only barely visible, as Howell kept tugging down the shorts to cover them, and then tugging them back up to cover his hipbones. It was as if he could decide which place he rathered me _not_ look.

“Um- yeah- so-” I tried, clearing my throat as I realized I was staring. “I was thinking we could lay some towels out on the sand and watch the sea, and birds.”

Howell nodded, acting fidgety again.

I scratched the back of my neck, feeling unusually awkward.

“Right, well,” I said.

Howell nodded and began to head down the small slope of sand to the main part of the beach. I shook my head, try to rid the indecent thoughts that were creeping their way in, as I picked up the towels and hurried after him.

I tugged on his arm, and led him away from the main beach, to a small alcove.

“I found this place one night, after one of our fights,” I said, laying down some of the towels before I sat down. “I wanted to find some place I could mope in peace.”

It was meant to be light hearted, but it sound too serious.

Howell only nodded again, before he sat down next to me, pulling his knees to his chest, and resting his chin on top of them.

I looked at him before sighing. “Alright, that’s it.”

Howell yelped as I grabbed him under his arms and pulled him into my lap, chest to back, thigh to thigh, chin to the top of his head.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” I said as I felt his stuttered breathing, his heart pounding a mile and hour. “I’ve been patient all day. It’s time to tell me what’s up.”

Howell let out a choked laugh. _When did you become so confrontational? What happened to the Phil I knew?_

“He found himself with a big baby who couldn’t take care of himself. Now stop avoiding the question. What’s wrong?”

Howell was silent.

I waited for him to answer, until it was apparent he wasn’t going to. Slowly, so he wouldn’t notice, I began to stroke the patch of skin that had been revealed where the sweater had ridden up.

I could tell he’d felt his when he tensed up. He didn’t say stop, so I continued, moving my fingers down further to his hipbone, then up to his knee.

I felt his breathing become more choppy and erratic.

It was until I tried to push the leg of his shorts up to touch his thigh did he stop me, pushing away and crawling out of my lap.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. I know I need to be more patient, I just-”

“Please… Don’t…” Howell said with a choked sob.

“Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. It’s okay. I’m sorry, my bad.” I said, looking at Howell. In a normal instance I would have held him close, but I was afraid if I got any closer he would disappear. “I’ll wait for you. I don’t want to rush y-”

“No…” Howell said, knees again pulled to his chest, face buried in them, muffling his already raw voice. “Aaron… ruined… ruined there…”

“Huh?” I said, brows furrowed. I didn’t understand.

Howell unfolded himself, revealing tear tracks on his cheeks. I almost didn’t notice his hands. They were making slicing motions across his clothed thighs.

I was puzzled, and then I wasn’t.

“Oh my god!” I gasped out, my hand coming to cover my mouth. Aaron had…

“You’ll think…” Howell tried to choke out around the lump in his throat. “... Ugly…”

I looked at him shocked, taking in his scrunched up face, covering in tears and snot, looking like a lost little kid.

He thought because Aaron had defaced him… I would think he’s _ugly?!_ I was almost offended that he thought so little of me.

“No, no, no. What are you possibly thinking?” I said, looking at him with soft eyes. “Come here.”   
He reached out his arms, his body practically screaming to be held.

“Dan,” I said using his first name on purpose. “I want to make something very clear to you.”

I felt him nod into the crook of my neck.

“I am deeply, deeply, in love with you.”

I felt him squeeze me tighter.

“I love everything little thing about you from your constant blushing, to the face you make when you cry. I want to be with you all the time, and I think of almost nothing but you. I don’t care if Aaron ‘ruined you’ or however you see it. I will cherish every freckle and every scar you have, because to me, anything relating to you is beautiful. No matter how ugly you think it is, I will see it as another special thing about you that only I am wise to.”

Howell tilted his head back to look at me, his face full of wonder again, like he would never understand what went on in my head.

“Daniel Howell,” I said, as I traced the backs of his eyelids with my fingertips. “When will you understand how much I absolutely adore you?”

 

* * *

 

After yet another break down, we stayed intertwined- where we always seemed to find ourselves- and stayed until it was time for the sun to visit someone else for the day.

Howell was practically asleep as we got into the car, head lulling to the side as we drove over potholes and speed bumps.

When we were almost home, Howell stuck out his hand and tapped me on the shoulder.

“You… don’t speak… languages… used to…” Howell mumbled, and to this day I still don’t know if he was asleep or not.

I smiled at the fact that he was getting better at speaking already, even if it was perfect.

“Yeah, I’ve found I don’t need to anymore.”

Howell snored softly in response.

I took one last longing look before I turned my eyes back to the road.

“I don’t have to hide behind my words and more,” I said even though I was pretty sure Howell was asleep.

“And… I can share… mine… you…”

I smiled. “Yes, and now you can share yours with me.”

 

* * *

 

After I dropped Howell of safely at home, and said “goodnight” to his parents, I drove back to mine, thinking about the past forty-eight hours.

I thought about Howell’s past.

I thought about my past.

I thought about for how once in my life I actually felt settled. Grounded. Like I had a purpose.

I parked the car and hopped out, skipping every other step up to my front door.

When I opened the door, that’s when I knew.

I looked around the nearly empty room, walls where pictures hung- blank. Floor where furniture once sat- vacant.

And that’s when I knew.

I stood dumbfounded in the doorway for a few moments, thinking this was some kind of sick joke- that I’d walked into somebody else’s house.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and shut the door.

“Mum?” I croaked. She walked into the hallway slowly, as if she knew that if she move and faster I would collapse like a tower of cards.

We stared at each other, tracing the worn lines in each others faces, the lines that drew a map of how we somehow end up here- like this- _like fucking this._

“I’m truly sorry, Phil,” she said, one fat tear rolling down her cheek.

And that’s when I knew.

I was so done with tears.

I was so done with unfortunate events.

I was so done with disappointing Howell.

 

And that’s when I knew.

 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen - Dan

Chapter Thirteen - Dan:

 

Phil was crying when he called me, choking out breaths like it was something he was forcing himself to do. And then he said it, those two words that felt like my ribs had caved in.

And then we sat in silence, listening to each others breaths through the receiver, trying to use telepathy to understand how the other was feeling- what they were thinking.

And then he hung up.

 

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen - Phil

Chapter Fourteen - Phil:

 

_I’m leaving._

I practiced saying ninety-nine times before I did it for real.

Number five was to the cereal while I poured myself a bowl numbly.

_I'm leaving._

Number twenty-seven was as I walked up the stairs, a finger tracing the banister like it was Howell’s eyelids. 

_I'm leaving._

Number fifty-two was while I sat among the boxes I’d just emptied, as I’d put everything back in my room in denial.

_I'm leaving._

Number seventy-six was while I stared at myself in the mirror.

Same with seventy-seven and seventy-eight.

_I'm leaving, I'm leaving, I'm leaving._

Number eighty-four was while I put everything back into the boxes.

_I'm leaving._

Number ninety-nine was while I dialed Howell’s number with my hands shaking.

_I'm leaving._

And number one hundred was while I listened to Howell’s silence on the other line, trying to understand the words he wasn’t saying- like always did.

Only this time I didn’t want to understand.

I hung up.

_I'm sorry._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> Hey everyone!!!
> 
> i know it's been a while BUT I HAVENT FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU GUYS DONT WORRY!!!
> 
> i hope you guys like the new chapters.
> 
> Not gonna lie, i've had this "ending" part written out since december. i knew exactly what was going down. also i may or may not have laughed a little while typing this up. not because i was happy but because i know what the reaction is going to be while reading this.
> 
> also unfortunately there was an incident on wattpad (where i also post this story) where someone had copied and pasted my story and claimed it was their "own" and i got a couple messages from people saying I had plagiarized "their story". It's not a huge deal because it's pretty obvious that i'm the original creator and you guys know that so I'm not too worked up over it. However I just want to let everyone know that if you see this story anywhere other than here or my wattpad "strawb3rryvib3s", I would like you to notify me or ask them to take it down/ report them.
> 
> also idk if I've mentioned it on here but i have an instagram (strawb3rryvib3s) where i post sometimes.
> 
> OH and another thing, i get messages from you guys asking me things or when I'm updating and often i'll see you guys leave "sorry if i'm bothering you" in the message somewhere.
> 
> Guys.
> 
> You guys could ask me if I'm updating a hundred times, in all caps and i would not be bothered. you guys a sweet and i appreciate that you like my writing so no, you guys are NEVER a bother. you can ask me anything any time you like :) <3
> 
> alright thats all for now, hugs kisses and all that jazz!
> 
> Xxx Eden


	15. Chapter Fifteen - Dan

Chapter Fifteen - Dan:

 

Phil’s face wasn’t the first thing I wanted to see that morning. I didn’t want to see him standing at my doorstep, wearing a thin, long sleeve black shirt, and classic black jeans with rips in the knees, nice black boots on his nervous, shuffling feet. I didn’t want to see him looking rumpled but still beautiful.

I didn’t want to see him, but then again I really, really, did.

I rubbed my eyes with one of my small, curled fists, to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming. I hadn’t seen him in days, so many that I’d almost begun to think that he’d left without saying “goodbye”.

Everything lately had been as if I were underwater.

When Phil had called me, I’d been half asleep, groggy, and warm, from dreams of him with his arms around me. When he’d spoke, his voice choked and raspy as he muttered “I’m sorry” before hanging up, I’d sat frozen, suddenly very awake.

I couldn’t ever tell you how in that moment I knew exactly what he was talking about and exactly what he was apologizing for, I just did. Maybe it was from all the nights we spent tracing the small, soft parts of each other underneath the sheets when our shirt rode up just so, or maybe it was from all the afternoons we fought until we were out of breath, or maybe it was all the quiet mornings we spent together munching on cereal, eyes flickering to one another.

All I could tell you was that when he hung up, I could feel every fragile thing in my box tumbling out of my heart, out of my chest, and out of my mouth.

I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, sobbing so hard, harder than when Aaron hurt me, even harder still when I found out he was dead.

My parents had come running in, cradling me in their arms until they knew it was no good. Until they knew that this time, I may have really broken.

I think I cried all night, til dawn and into the morning when the sun came to visit me, to check if I was okay, to no prevail, before it hid back behind the clouds.

I cried until the birds were woken by my sorrow, and sat on the telephone wires, gossiping and mourning my loss, heads hung, tucked to their chest.

I thought about Phil all that morning, laying in bed, rejecting my parents pleas for me to get up, nothing in my mind but Phil; he’d taken up every corner of my mind, and every corner of my heart. Every corner of everything I ever was or would be.

God, I really was a sap.

I thought about how I wouldn’t be able to see his big blue eyes, the ones that reminded me of the sky I loved so dearly, both like a mood ring, colors ranging from blinding anger, to calm summers, and dark evening weddings.

Or you know, titles of candles you would buy at Bath & Body.

I thought about his dark hair, the kind that looked great and effortless on him but would take me hours to achieve. The kind I’d always longed and dreamt to run my fingers through but never got the chance.

So when I opened the door that morning, several days after Phil’d called, I didn’t expect it to be him.

What are you doing here? I’d signed, too tired to be angry, all my energy having drained out through my tears and screams. Aren’t you supposed to be-

“Leaving, yeah,” he said, rubbing his hands together again like he was cold. He said the words devoid of his usual cocky attitude, now seeming like only a shell of himself, nothing like when he first stood up for me in math. He looked defeated, his eyes red around the edges and puffy, like he’d been crying- and everyone knew Phil Lester didn’t cry. He had dark circles under his eyes too, reminding me of the time I punched him in the face.

I snorted softly at this thought rubbing a finger over one of my clenched fists.

“Look,” he said as he began pacing back and forth, making me more anxious by the second. “I know this may be a bad time but there really isn’t any other time, so-”

He reached out and took my arm, pulling me out of the doorway, as I stumbled into his chest. He jerked the door shut behind him, before bounding down the steps to his car, me trailing behind. He jumped inside, pulled me into his lap, and shut the door.

I sat wide eyed, my legs cramped around his, the steering wheel digging into the small of my back. I looked down at him, tufts of hair in my eyes.

“I love you so damn much,” Phil whispered, as he tilted his head up, and crained his neck to smash our lips together. I inhaled sharply through my nose, as he brought his hands up to frame my face, fingers tangling into my hair. I placed my hands gently on his broad shoulders, my eyelids fluttering as colors swam around me; pastel and soft.

Our movements were quiet -even though there was no one to hear us. The sloppy sounds of lips on lips being hushed by fingers yanking at my hair, and my fingers clawing at Phil’s shoulder blades, desperate and wishful.

I felt him trace a finger around the shell of my ear, drawing it down to the slope of my neck, and back up again. I shuddered at the delicate touch, as our lips broke apart for a moment, our warm breaths painting each other’s lips colors I could never name.

I felt Phil’s hot, open mouth, leaving small kisses along my jaw, the bridge of my nose, my forehead. He dropped his mouth down to my neck, sucking as small dark spot in the junction between my neck and shoulder. I let out a squeak and drew back, my breath labored.

My cheeks were so hot, and my entire body was quivering in eager anticipation. I looked down at Phil, his eyes hooded and mouth slack. He glanced down at my body, laughing breathily.

“You’re not wearing pants.”

I looked down at my lap, noticing I had indeed forgotten to put on pants, my pale pink boxers on display, not hiding any doubt of how much I yearned for something more.

I blushed heavily, flustered as I pressed my hands over my lap, only to have them seek leverage as I was shoved into the passenger seat.

I glared at Phil as I sat sprawled across both seats, legs still on his lap. He only smiled sweetly at me, dropping a kiss onto my knee, smile transforming into a smirk as I move my legs quickly away from his wicked mouth.

“So,” Phil said clearing his throat, covertly trying to adjust himself in his pants. “Let’s get going. There some things we have to do today.”

He started the car and pulled away from the curb, his still bedroom colored eyes dropping down to glance at my thighs and up to my hips when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

I moved my hands slowly back to my lap, pressing gently.

But I did.

 

* * *

 

Why are we parked outside of a furniture store? I signed as I followed Phil out of the car, still in my cream sweater, pink boxer shorts, and knit socks, drawing some sideways looks from passing strangers.

“Because,” Phil said, a small polaroid camera in hand, as he looked about. “This is one of the first places I met you.”

I looked around, and noticed Phil was right, the street the same ones I walked the day I saw him and Jeremy together. I’d asked Phil once, if he and Jeremy were dating and he’d laughed, and said Jeremy was Meredith’s fiance, and had asked where on earth I’d gotten that idea. I’d felt like an idiot.

Okay… I signed, shaking off the cringe worthy memory, and walked with Phil until he stopped in front of a dry clear store. But I still don’t get why we’re here.

He looked like a fish caught on a line, a brief look of embarrassment crossing his features, before he looked down, hands fiddling with his camera.

“Phil,” I said exasperated. I was getting better at speaking.

“Look. Whether either of us like it or not, I’m leaving. For a while, or at least until I’m eighteen. And I want-” he took a deep breath. “I want to remember you and all the things about you, down to the very places we met.”

Dear, God. Phil Lester what a beautiful creature you are.

I nodded, slowly. Will I get a picture too?

Phil smiled, so big, and nodded vigorously.

I thought he was going to keep walking down the street, so I was surprised when he bent down and pulled me to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me- practical crushing me.

Every time Phil touched me- whether it was soft and innocent or rough and provocative- I felt something very small and gentle burrowing itself further into the nook in my chest. Everything was lighter and safer, my vision foggy at the edges, all the colors- pale yellows and oranges, pretty pinks and lavenders- all creating a splendid hue of… something. Love? This was all so different from Aaron- when I was with him, all the precious colors were always tinted with a sort of darkness, like stormclouds that were approaching in the horizon.

But I think with Phil it was love. The real kind. The heart wrenching and heart breaking kind.

I felt my chest and stomach tighten at the reminder that this light was going to be leaving me very shortly.

“Be honest,” Phil rasped, his jaw, where he forgot to shave, scratching the crook of my neck. “You haven’t left your room since I’ve called?”

I wanted to lie, but I knew he’d see through me.

I nodded. “Do I… smell… that bad?” I said, trying to keep things light.

“No,” I could tell Phil was smiling. “You always smell good.”

My cheek went hot, and I could feel his hands stroking the small of my back.

“Anyways,” Phil said, stepping away from me and scratching the back of his head and checking the time through one of the shop windows.

“We should hurry if we want to to get to all the places.”

I dipped my head, half nodding as I looked at my feet, praying with everything that I had that this day would never end.

“Alright, say ‘cheese’!”

I looked up from my socks, only to see a small flash, and then Phil’s grinning face. He pulled a small slip of paper emerging from the end of the camera, before handi both things to me.

“Here, now take mine.”

We traded places, while I looked through the viewfinder and Phil posed with two fingers next to his face, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he smiled.

When I finished taking the picture, we compared the two- my blank, surprised face and Phil’s darling one.

“Good, good.” Phil said, breath tickling my ear as he leaned over me. “Now,” he continued, gripping my wrist as he pulled us back to the car. “To the lesser version of Hogwarts, Draco!”

Why am I Malfoy? I signed.

“Because you’re the one who always ends up needing saving.”

I smiled smugly. If anything it’d be you because of how much of a brat you are all the time.

As if just to prove my point, Phil turned his head and stuck his tongue out at me.

 

* * *

 

We continued taking snapshots of our yesterdays, first returning to school, to the math room in which we first met (how Phil got the keys, I didn’t even bother asking). Then we traveled to the art room, and the locker room- all the while a comfortable silence coating our shared space in a pretty frosting, sliding into the cracks and sealing us together.

We went to Phil’s house, where the aroma of him floated around, making me weak in the knees and grey inside my chest, realizing that the scent soon would be blown away with the wind. Then it was off to the burger joint we ate at once, the bright, sunny yellows and glaring whites gave off cozy tones, and echoed of the walls sounds of past angry and hurt words that had stumbled over the soft words in our throats.

We continued to travel on our haphazard map through memory lane until we finally ended up at the old rickety steps of the small, grey church.

“Come on!” Phil said, still full of enthusiasm. I’d never seen him like this. Usually he was sulking and gloomy with an underlying element of childishness and sunshine. Now it felt like I was with my mother when she was trying to convince me of how “beneficial this class would be” and “look at all the friends you could make”.

“Phil,” I said as he was bounding up the steps.

He stopped, not turning around, shoulders slumping slightly. I tried again, throat a little raspy.

“Phil.”

He still didn’t turn around, his broad frame looking small in the massive, open archway.

Finally, he faced me, his face ashen and arms hung at his sides, like dead weights.

“It’s not working is it,” he said, half to me and half to himself. “You can still tell. I should have known…”

I walked towards him, up the steps and wrapped my arms around him. I could feel him trembling, like when you forced yourself not to cry.

I'd suspected that was what he was doing; putting on a face, pretending just for me- once again putting his own feelings aside to make sure I was happy, that I felt loved and cared for. But for once, I felt like it wasn't needed.

“It’s… okay… to be sad,” I breathed against his shoulder blades. “I’ll miss you… but I love you.”

I could feel Phil’s sharp intake of breath, that shuddering feeling rattling throughout his chest.

“Dan, gods Dan,” he choked. He turned himself around in my arms, and looked down at me with big, sad eyes- those blackblackblackblack and ohmygodblue’s.

Be honest, I signed. Do you feel half a shitty as I do?

He laughed a bit, and nodded, taking a step back, our arms falling back to our sides.

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispered.

All the air came rushing out of me, my forgotten balloon of head finally popped. It was as if with those words, the realization of Phil’s leave was only now settling in.

I could feel myself becoming off-balanced, the dark part inside me, tickling my lungs. I could feel myself spiraling deeper into that black hole- that black ocean- I’d thought I’d lost.

Phil was leaving.

I might never see him for a very long time, or worse, never again.

What if he meets another pretty boy who’s not fucked up? What then?

My heart was thumping fast and my head spinning.

As if sensing my panicked state, Phil shook my shoulders gently.

“Hey,” he said brow furrowed, as he regained his control and composure. “Are you alright?”

What if you leave and realize how much of a burden I am? I signed. What if you decide I’m worthless and you never want to come back? Or- or if you meet someone better and nicer, and-

Phil reached out, my chin caught between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes stern, looking into mine. I didn’t meet his gaze, casting my eyes downwards to his ruined looking boots.

What if you notice how much easier life is without me? I continued, when Phil didn’t say anything. Because trust me when I tell you, I know if you leave I’ll notice how much more difficult it’ll be without you.

I could feel the soft, salty tears streaming down my cheeks.

It’s just like this morning, I thought. I always let my insecurities get the best of me, my private thoughts never a secret if Phil was around.

“Why?” Phil said, and I could hear the sorrow in his voice. “Why do you never believe me when I say ‘I love you’?”

I do, I signed. But-

“But what?”

But- I looked up at Phil, his eyes searching, my mind screaming “say it!”.

Why don’t you touch me?

Immediately Phil’s face went blank, eyes glancing at his hand on my face. “But I do…”

I could feel the blush creeping up onto my face. Like in the car…

Realization dawned on Phil, and he burst out laughing, much to my dismay. I felt beyond embarrassed.

I took a step back, but Phil reached out a hand again.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, his laughter subsiding to a cocky grin. “It’s just- I want to. I want to all the time. You have no idea how many times I laid awake at night, with you next to me, thinking-” he blushed, self conscious. “But it never feels like the right time. I'm always afraid you'll crumble right under my fingers, that I'll break all the fragile things you keep inside.”

I looked up at him, surprised. I didn't know you knew about that stuff.

He smiled. “Of course I do.”

I shuffled my feet, feeling awkward and embarrassed again. I started when Phil gently tucked one of my locks behind my ear.

“I really do think you're beautiful,” he said.

Again, a thousand degrees on me.

“Come on. Let's get this last photo and then head back to yours.”

I nodded as we headed inside, the dusty pews and delicate lighting filtering through the stained panes.

We walked over to the multi-colored windows, the black cement sealing the pieces of glass together stark next to the pale, translucent colors.

I trailed a finger over the rough cement, remembering the woman's words. The black in between, our regrets, lies, and darkest thoughts patching everything together- the truest things we ever think painted as sins. Where the light can never meet.

She was wrong, I thought. Or at least in a way. Sure, you may think the light can never see the darkest parts of you, only because it doesn't show- but that doesn't mean the light still isn't there, looking and casting its glow. I think the more accurate phrase, would be that whether or not the light can see the darkness inside, it can never truly change those parts of you.

I looked at Phil fiddling with the camera, my heart clenching painfully. Of all the things I'd assumed would never change, Phil being by my side was at the top of the list. With his gentle touches and deep voice lulling me to sleep when he read me stories, I still couldn't image what was going to happen when he left.

How am I- this small fragile flower- supposed to grow, if my little prince moves away?

“You ready?” Phil said looking at me.

I sighed. As I'll ever be.

 

* * *

 

We had barely made it back into my empty house and into my bedroom before Phil was kissing me.

It was feverous and rushed, like back in the car, like an inch that coated my entire body.

He had me pressed up against the door, my shoulder blades trembling and one hand on the door knob, the other hand clutching Phil's bicep; as if I wanted to push him away and flee.

But of course, I did and I didn't want to.

“I've been wanting to ravish you all afternoon,” Phil said kissing me, hands clasped around my face like he was afraid that if he let go, I'd fade away and this would prove to be a dream.

“And when you said that bit in the church,” he continued, mouthing the words sloppily against my lips. “Gods. Do you know how hard it was to not- to not-”

My face was flushed, just like Phil liked it, and my stomach was tight and warm. It felt like when I was a kid, and I lay on a chair, arms and legs out, balancing only on my stomach. It felt like that, that moment of excitement and anxiety and slight breathless pleasure.

“Do you have any idea?” Phil spoke still trying to convey whatever he was talking about between kisses. For once I wished he would stop talking.

“Do you-” kiss “-have any idea-” kiss “-just how-” kiss “-beautiful-” kiss, kiss “-you really are?”

He pulled back for a moment so our noses were barely brushing, warm breath fanning over my face, letting my blissed out state subside and the words finally sink in.

I whined, sweat on my hairline prickling down temples. “Phil… please…” I breathed. I felt hot, and awkward, and immature standing there with my pink boxers and too big sweater.

“Tell me what you want,” Phil breathed back. “I know I’m leaving tomorrow-” I felt a jolt of pain sliced through me “-but I don't want to do this with you if that's your only reason.”

The warm creature in my chest was back.

“So, tell me what you want,” he whispered against my ear, nipping at the shell of it, and nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck. I felt him inhale, and myself shudder. “Tell me,” he breathed. “Princess.”

I choked. “I-”

I tried to say something- anything- but everything was too much, too fast, with not enough time. I let out a sob. “You.”

Phil smiled against my neck, and left a feather light kiss there. “I’m right here.”

The magic words. The ones that had me pushing my face into his chest and shoving my cold hands up his shirt- making him gasp, and then chuckle in adoration.

They were the words that had him picking me up and setting me on the bed- gentle, as always so gentle- and covering my body with his.

He tilted his head down ms slotted our lips back together, his hands underneath me- one on my shoulder blade, the other on the small of my back, his thumb stroking over my hipbone. I felt like a fragile thing being cradled to his chest.

The colors were back, too- pastel and soft- everything like I was floating through a bright fog.

I could feel Phil's calloused hands on me, like bark against a velvet like flower petal, leaving invisible mark wherever they sought purchase. They traveled to my hair- yanking it, carding his fingers through it, directing my head this way and that- to leave hot, open mouthed kisses across my sensitive neck.

He paused, laughing breathily, looking into my dark eyes. “You're so noisy.”

Indeed I was, soft gasps and groans slipping from the corners of my mouth. The noisy were embarrassing at best- closer to mortifying if you asked me- and caused a full body blush to travel the expanses of my skin. I could feel Phil's eyes following it all the way down to my sock covered feet.

Sat back on his heels, between my legs with his head cocked to the side, Phil watched me under heavy eyelids, watched me trying to catch my breath and find by bearings. While waiting, his hands crept underneath my sweater, and rolled it up over my arms and head.

I resisted the urge to curl in on myself, letting Phil look and look and look his fill. His traveled over me smiling at my scrawny calves, and knobby knees, and tiny frame, era finally getting caught at my biceps.

Oh. I'd nearly forgotten.

I felt my arms tremble but didn't cross them, didn't hide and still, let him look.

He gently- gentle, always too gentle- traced a finger over one of the silvery scars, not saying anything. He dropped his head suddenly, soft mouth brushing against them, tongue slipping out between his lips, in a wet, warm stripe.

I jolted and stiffened, everything too overwhelming.

No words were exchanged, as Phil coated each sad scar with a film of saliva, leaving his mark over another's. I panted and bit my lip, as he transferred to the other arm, starting at the bicep and making his way down to my empty wrist. He carefully kissed each pad of my fingers, before dropping one into my palm, and curling my fingers into a small fist. It felt like the final stick mark, patching up the last tear in my heart. The last remnants of Aaron, his last trace being engulfed by Phil entirely.

“Phil…?” I croaked.

Phil placed kiss into my sternum, before sliding down and resting his head on my hipbone. “Yes, sweetheart?”

I closed my eyes, and reached a hand down to stroke the top of his head. “Don’t… say that.”

“Okay,” he said, finger tracing the hem of my pale boxers. He pressed a kiss into my inner thigh and I hummed.

“Hey, Howell?” He asked.

“Yeah?” I breathed.

“Can I write to you while I’m away?”

I squeezed my eyes closed tighter. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Phil paused. “Dan?”

I opened my eyes and looked down at him, my chin to my chest.

“Can I touch you?”

I looked at his eyes, the ones I'd wanted to draw since the very first day I'd seen him, tromping up the school steps with a scowl on his lips. They looked more blue now- or maybe it was just the light. But I could have sworn on that day they were grey, but looking at them now, they were bright and blue and everything I held dear.

“Yes.” I said.

The rest of that afternoon and evening was spent in each other's arms, where I always wanted us to be. The room was still and quiet, our flurry of limbs and noisy disturbing the peace, and echoing our private chaos. Our gasps and cut off “I love you”’s were hushed, for now wasn't the time for words. It wasn't the time for misleading things or making mistakes with our mouths.

Our hearts were beating, the stings of them tangled together, our clocks in time with one another. Our hands were fight for more skin, more soft touches, and more time, so our hearts could be together a little bit longer.

And as the moon floated over my window to check on me, and as Phil dropped his last few kisses on my rosy skin, I was pleased and elated that Phil's face was the first thing I saw this morning.

 

* * *

 

I woke up before Phil, an unusual occurrence, and tried to map out the shapes of his face, the face that would soon be disappearing.

I had my sketchbook in my hand, pencil rushing across the page, as I drew his indecent form, and just let my mind wander.

Lately, I’d been thinking about in the sense that I shouldn’t be thinking about it. Now, I just let myself wallow in it, in Phil, and let myself be sad, let myself be okay with being sad.

I laid there, quiet, listening to Phil’s deep breaths of agitation and frustrated sighs, face slightly scrunched. It was similar to the face he made when he was struggling with the truth, or trying to think and create worlds where things were a little less fucked up for us.

Us. A word I would sorely miss in twenty-four hours.

I set the sketchbook down, only the top half finished, his eyes not completely draw in either- making them more realistic.

I turned over so I wasn’t looking at Phil, letting myself think about all the times I’d had with him, wondering if all this really started because of his looking eyes, or my messy words.

I could feel the butterflies I kept caged in my chest rattling, already missing Phil’s even when he was right next to me. Last night had one in a long string of first with Phil, but probably the most embarrassing.

I turned over again, and shoved my face into the pillow, embarrassed just thinking about it. They way he’d held me, and the fluffy touches, when I’d wished so desperately he’d handled me roughly and with no caution.

“Were you finally taking me up on that nude draw offer?”

I lifted my head up to see morning Phil, still with a bit of sleep stuck in the corners of his eyes. He was holding my sketchbook, looking over it thoughtfully.

I was drawing you like one of my french girls, I signed when he look over at me.

He barked out a laugh, setting the book down, and laying back down, shuffling over to me.

“What are you thinking?”

I struggled with what to say. “... Yesterday.”

Phil smiled. “All our troubles seemed so far away. Oh I believe, in yesterday.”

My heart hurt.

“I’m sorry if you thought I was too gentle,” Phil said, hand shifting underneath the sheets to stroke my nude thighs, tracing the scars adorned there too. The ones that were given the same treatment as the ones on my arms. I trembled softly, wishing it was still last night.

His hand slid up my thigh over my hip, into the divot of my waist and over my shoulder to cup my cheek. He placed a downy kiss on my lips and then one on my forehead.

I could feel my entire being quivering.

“Why…?” I asked, a sob caught in my throat. “Why can’t you stay?”

He looked stricken. “I’m not old enough to take care of myself yet, okay? I will come back for you, I promise, okay? You are my everything, my sweetheart, the light of my life. I will come back.”

I shook my head in defiance, and I heard Phil sigh, as he placed another small kiss on my forehead.

“Will you…” I asked, half crying, and half uncertain. “Will you tell me a story? Before you go?”

Phil smiled again, one that had everything in it, one that said all I need to hear.

“There was once a creature very fragile- a flower- with indelible scar scattered all over him; some on his petal skin, and some hidden inside.

Then there was another boy, a soon to be prince- who tended to the flower- who could relate. His own scars called out, as if to comfort the obvious distraught and agony trapped inside the little flower. It was written across the flowers petals, like an open wound.”

I snuggled closer to Phil chest, head tucked into his shoulder juncture, naked warm legs tangling mine, hands stroking my waist and back. Safe.

“Everyday, the prince watered the flower, singing to it as he did, telling the flower he was beautiful in the hopes that one day, the flower would grow into something even more beautiful. Then one day, the prince came to the flower, and told it that he was leaving, and that someone else was going to be taking care of the flower.

The flower was angry, and sad, feeling lost and betrayed. But the prince promised to come back, and see how even more beautiful the flower had become without him.

I was quiet. That was a stupid story, I signed.

Phil laughed, the noise reverberating through his chest and into mine.

Did the prince come back? I signed.

Phil nosed the tufts of my hair. “Of course he did.”

We languished in the rest of our time together, bathing in it, just enjoy the close company of one another- something we would have for the next, long while.

But too soon, it was time for Phil to go.

I wish I could say it was some beautiful affair but it wasn’t; it was just us.

No magical last words, no passionate make out scenes, just us.

Just Phil stumbling into his ripped jean, and white t-shirt, and his handful of black boots, and a shy, sad smile on his face.

“I love you,” he said. “To the moon and back.”

I closed my eyes, as he dropped one final kiss on my forehead.

“I love you too,” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I clutched Phil’s shoulder. I didn’t want to let him go. “To the moon… and back.”

Phil covered my hands with his, pulling them away, and walking backwards to the doorway. When he reached it, he ran a nervous hand through his baby blue hair, as he leaned against the frame, head cocked to the side, same sure fired expression as to the one I saw when he stood up for me in the stupid math class.

“See ya around, Howell.”

His final words.

And then he was gone.

And then I was gone.

And then I never stopped crying.

 

* * *

 

The next four months I never heard from Phil. I never got a call, never got a letter, nothing.

He forgot me.

The moment he walked out that door, I knew he would forget me.

The days felt meaningless without him here, so much so, that I nearly forgot the events that transpired throughout the days.

Mostly I spent my time sitting in the bathtub, thinking of him. Thinking of my Phil.

I no longer was plagued by dreams of Aaron’s teeth like blades, but of Phil’s blue eyes, drowning me.

I would stare at the opposite wall, back cold against the tile as I sat in that grimy bathtub, thinking about the two boys I could never have.

One dead, and a psychopath.

And the other had become a ghost, leaving traces of his two baby, blues. The zeal I once had for life no longer existed it seemed.

A lot of the rest of my time I spend staring out the window, looking at the sky- remembering Phil's eyes, always Phil's lovely eyes- and watching the puffs from jets, like the last brush stroke that ruined the painting.

It wasn't until I came home, one afternoon, blurry faced from the days that had just begun to meld together, when I found a box on my door step. There was no return address, only mine with the name replaced with "To: Fragile Boy".

It was then, that I knew.

I didn't open the box at first. I just took comfort in the knowing that Phil really stuck to his word.

Maybe I won't open it that day, or the next, it at least I could feel okay again.

Because Phil would come back for me.

He would.

_Ich habe dich._

_I love you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:
> 
> Firstly, two more chapters left.
> 
> Secondly let me tell yall a little story. As someone who has never personally been that intimate with someone before, it was really hard to write this chapter- nearly impossible. Not gunna lie I read so many smut fics and books with sex scenes but they all proved to be no help. Sorry if this chapter isn't as sexy as you wanted but I felt like this was what made the most sense with the rest of the story since the rest wasnt overly sexy either.
> 
> Also sorry that this is late but I'm come on who really is surprised lol. Also I apologize if this is cheesy as fuck because I think it's super corny and can't even read it without gagging at the corniness.
> 
> IVE ALSO BEEN WORKING ON A PHAN HARRY POTTER AU AND A GREEK MYTHOLOGY AU SO LOOK FORWARD TO THAT
> 
> Might edit the ending of this since its a bit weak but I just really wanted to get this chapter up!
> 
> ONLY TWO LEFT THOUGH
> 
> alright hugs kisses and all that jazz
> 
> Xxx -Eden


	16. Chapter Sixteen - Phil

_Chapter Sixteen - Phil:_

_Dear Howell,_

_I hope you can forgive me for not contacting you until this moment. I’d like to say it was because I didn’t want to hurt you, that I wanted to give you the time to start living your life as your own, no longer dependent on someone else; to live you life with a little more confidence, the thing an honorable man would say. But I fear that my reasons are far more selfish. I think it was me that I couldn’t bare to hurt._

_I hope you can forgive me, but I think that’s the selfish my talking again._

_I know you probably won’t open this right away- afraid it will be too much like peeling off a bandaid when you’re unsure of whether or not the wound underneath is healed. Take your time. I can wait. I’ll be patient, as I always tried to be anyways._

_Incased in this package you’ll find many items. I like to think of it as a “Dan Howell First-Aid Kit”, because I know you’ll be patching yourself up on your own. And I also know it probably won’t be enough._

_How many times have you sat in that bathtub staring at the walls, thinking of me? ~~Please don’t, it hurt everything to know~~_

_No, let’s not talk about that- you wouldn’t want to talk about that- that’s private._

_Don’t take that the wrong way- I’m not mocking or being cruel, I just mean I respect that._

_So let’s talk about something else._

_In this package you’ll find a variety of things; some might make you laugh, others cry, and a few confused._

_Firstly, we have my sweater. I sprayed some of my cologne on it, and wore it around for a few days before sending it. I hope you’ll find it romantic, although gross might be a better descriptor. Just know I was going for romantic. (It’s the thought that counts, right?) I sent it because I always thought it looked much cuter on you than me. The way the hem would graze your plump thighs, and the sleeves tucked into your palms because they were too long, and the neck, stretched, would show off your sharp collarbones. You looked so pretty, I remember._

_Sorry, am I bruising your masculinity? You’re probably blushing, I’ll stop._

_Next, we have a book; The Little Prince. Remember when I read it to you, and you fell asleep on me? I never told you, but I thought I was going to have a heart attack, I was so nervous. Of course, in the book I’ve add a few notes in the margins and maybe changed some of the names (SPOILER ALERT! You’re the rose and I’m the little prince!). I hope you get good enough at french that maybe one day we can have entire conversations in french, in lazy afternoons when the light is dim (and you look lovely)._

_Third up, we have an ipod. On it, you’ll find many stories you’ve probably never heard of before, some that you’ll remember living, others only dreams you didn’t know I was controlling. On the ipod you’ll find 50+ stories I’ve written all read by me. Think of it as like bedtime stories, you can plug in your headphones, and listen to me telling you about special worlds where were together. ( ~~Again was going for romantic, but could be construed as creepy.~~ ) There’s tales about days in the sky, when everything was bleak and chaotic, there’s tales about days in pale yellow, when you’re eyes were the only thing I could see in that bed of sweet sin, and there are tales before, when everything was plush and green, where cobwebs whispered promises of a better day, and you and I were just mere glimmers in the corners of each other’s eyes._

_Next, we have some photographs. You should remember a few of them; on our last day together. That was the real reason I wanted to take them, though I couldn’t tell you at the time. I knew you’d need some help in the near future, a little Phil pick-me up to get you through._

_The other pictures are of my new hair color; do you like it? I was listening to a song in the car the other day- it was talking about a girl being being blue and a boy being red and now the girl was purple because of the other. It was kind of dumb, but it reminded me of you. I used to wonder if you saw the world in colors- like the girl in that book ‘A Mango-Shaped Space’- and what colors you and I would be. I eventually decided I would be blue because of my eyes and you would be pink because of your incessant blushing. And because of that song, I thought purple hair would be most fitting, considering the effect we’ve had on each other. Do you like it? I hope you do._

_Second to last, we have a tarot card. Remember that story I told you one afternoon, about the Russian woman, and my tarot reading? This is the card; The Knight of Wands. The woman had said a man would have a big impact on my life- an energetic warrior, with a hasty personality— someone quick to hate or love. She’d told me to look forward to much passion and lust, action and adventure, desire and loss. Initially I’d brushed it off, it was only a reading, right? Some trick. But when I met you, when I’d brought you to my house for the first time, I began to doubt myself. You were so kind, and- well, energetic- in a way that was subtle enough not to be noticed. We always fought- one minute completely smitten with one another, and the next yelling such words I wish I could never remember saying._

_With you came everything the woman had anticipated: passion and lust, action and adventure, desire and loss. ~~so much loss. I miss you. I want you with me every passing day.~~ I took all of you in stride, maybe not at first, but I tried. I tried to cherish you, make you feel special, and loved. I knew you had a past from the moment I’d met you, and I tried to respect that. I knew you felt lesser than one should, and I tried to show you that you could find yourself again. Maybe with a little help here and there, but mainly on you’re own terms, without always having to lean on someone else._

_Maybe that was the real reason I waited to contact you for so long. To see if_ you’d _realize that too._

_The last thing in this package is another letter. This letter I want you to wait to open. I want you to save it. I know- unfortunately- that there will come another dark day. When you think of old dark, dim faces, or miss me a heart too much, or you feel yourself drowning in the air you’re breathing. On that day I want you to read the letter, let it be you tether and your light. Let it be my replacement. Hopefully that day never comes, but I’m not such a fool to believe in false hopes._

_I will see you again Dan Howell. And on that day, let us meet like old friends, old lovers, and rekindle the flame. (Okay now I’m sound like an old sap.)_

_See you around, Howell._

_Love, Phil Lester_

_* * *_

_Dear Dan,_

_Ah, today was that dark day. Don’t feel ashamed, I’m not disappointed. If anything I’m proud you trust me enough to cradle you at your lowest in chance of bringing you back to your highest._

_Since you're probably think a slur of awful thoughts- all of which I can merely speculate about, let me offer you a distraction. A story._

_Since I'm really good at those._

_It starts with a boy, who was too beautiful for words. Nothing anyone ever wrote could capture him, not like one glance could._

_He was dark, like the shadows that’d follow you home at dusk, or the crowd that sat on your telephone wires. But his eyes were bright like the black lake when it's dusted with the first falls of snow. His skin was ivory and dotted like the universe turned inside out, like how you felt when you were with him- the whole thing finished off with a hazel glow. He was polite- this friendly, grey ghost that came and went- but you could always feel was there. He was magnificent and that wasn't even the half of it._

_I never called him by his first name, like a pet I was afraid to get attached to- in fear of losing more than I could fathom. He had the attitude of a pet- wild and timid- and unjustly loyal, even at times when maybe he shouldn't have been._

_I knew he kept a box of fragile things inside himself, thugs he thought no one could see. But to me, it was like looking at a bright neon sign, with the word “vacancy” flashing._

_I never did find the time to cherish each everything inside, but I did my best. I guess he didn't know I had a box too._

_I think while I'm away, I’ll need someone to cherish the things inside like I did for my polite little ghost- like I did for you, my love._

_When I’d told you I had selfish reasons I wasn't being depressing. I was being soppy._

_I’m entrusting my box of fragile things to you, Dan. Each one has a story, a memory attached. I only gave you a few- a taste- like what I got from my time with you. So this way you’ll know I'll be back. Back to share more wonderful, fragile moment with you, together._

_I love you, with all my heart, and I will return. Heart open, eyes open, arms open._

_With love,_

_Your Phil_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> Dear readers,  
> I hope you can forgive me for not updating on time lol   
> Schools been a pain but breaks in less than five days so yay!   
> ALSO FÛCKIN THANKS FOR 106K GUYS YALL-
> 
> ALSO ONLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT WHOS CRYING NOT ME JUST CUTTING SOME ONIONS   
> Also Dan and Phil's fanfics I died. And when in dans he said he punched phil in the face I was like "HEY YOU COPIED MY FIC M8!!111!!11 WANNA FIGHT M8??!!111!1??" :')
> 
> Alright I'm done being weird sorry  
> Hugs kisses and all that jazz   
> Xxx -Eden (instagram: @strawb3rryvib3s)


	17. Chapter Seventeen - Dan

Chapter Seventeen - Dan:

 

There was the smell of cinnamon and pine, coating the corners and hidden folds in clothing as I walked towards the open gate. It was potent and mystifying as I entered through the wrought iron gates, to visit the bustling city life. There were people wandering aimlessly through the packs of others, twisting through the gaps and finding spaces for themselves. I stood there for a moment- taking in the scents, and the sights- watching the black and red colored flags whip in the wind. They looked like butterflies lost at the sea. 

In the two years that had passed since Phil’s abrupt departure, I never once stopped feeling the butterflies he’d given to me, fluttering around inside my caged chest.

I walked through the throng of people, ones talking with their young and others to their old, smiles on everyone's faces. I didn’t feel like smiling. 

Others were still wandering, in no rush to see all the attractions, eyes full of wonder as they gazed at the magic around them, the special few spitting fire and sliding blades down their throats, only as a circus should be.

I knew my destination, the one place I felt a longing to visit, so that maybe the pang in my heart would lessen; it would stop jerking me awake in the middle of the night, or stop the spear of ice water that fell down my back. Maybe it would stop the hurt that had been dragged along my chest, painted in dark maroon and deep purple satin, the colors my-  _ no, not mine _ \- Phil’s pretty bruise had once been.

My lips twisted into a dark shape as I looked at the dark tents, looking and searching for the sign directing me to my destination. I spotted it, atop the blank and oblivious heads, an arrow pointing to a navy tent to my left.

I didn’t quicken my pace, for what was the point. I had all the time in the world to be by myself. I shoved my hands into my pockets of my jeans, the scarf around my neck itchy and wool, heavy around my neck like a noose. I knew I was being over dramatic, a brat Phil might have said were he here. Phil loved me, I knew it, he would confess it everyday if he could, and I held no fault to him for his distance. But everyone was wrong; absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder, it makes it grow weaker, and brittle and fragile to the touch. It  _ hurts _ so much and I miss him like no one ever could. I feel it everyday like something at the back of my throat, like a knife one of the circus folks might play with; there was no difference, we’ve both had experience in the art of not choking on something so fragile, and sharp and deadly. Only one was a knife, and the other was the silence I carried with me, and the burden of it.

I’d almost reached the tent opening, the flaps blowing in the wind in time with the flags. I stared dead eyed at the movement for a moment, before entering. It was dark, nothing I wasn't used to from all that time I spend sitting in the cool, porcelain tub, dreaming of blue and warm arms. The interior was only lit with a few small candles set on the rim of black tablecloth, a deck of cards sitting in the center. Behind the table was a large woman, with dark hair and eyes closed, the rest of the tent somewhat sparse. I waited for some sort of direction, or realization that I was he, but there was none. 

Eventually, I took the stool opposite her, the candles flickering with the movement. As soon as I was settled her eyes opened, dim and shadowed, all knowing as she looked into my startled face. 

“Vhat can I do for you?” the woman asked, her voice more husky like a man's, rolling her w’s so they sounded like v’s. 

I pinched the tarot card in my back pocket between my thumb and forefinger, the one Phil had given me, and cleared my throat. 

“I’d like a reading, please,” I said, remembering my manners at the last second.

The woman blinked, before she leaned forward, eyes like a cat's, face forming into a knowing grin. It was disconcerting, and I recoiled, feeling too exposed, like she _ knew me _ some how. 

“Of courze,” she said, slurring her s’s this time. She sat back, scooping up the cards in her bulbous fingers, and shuffling them lazily. She closed her eyes again, nodding to herself. “But, you only get one card.”

I furrowed my brow. “Alright.”

She smiled again showing teeth this time, the expression conveying that she had the upper hand in this situation, whatever that might mean. 

She fanned the cards out in front of me, offering up the choice like it was a matter of which flavored candy, and not the telling a of my future.

I scanned the cards with my fingertips, brushing over them tenderly before picking the very last one. I pinched it between my two fingers, pulling forward and slapping it down on the table face up. 

There wasn’t any “wow factor”. It was fairly plain, the background cream, with six small purple cups stacked in the foreground. It was upright, the words at the top reading obviously, “The Six of Cups”. 

“Ah,” the woman said, startling me again. 

I scowled at her. 

“That iz interezting, zad one,” she said, not even opening her eyes. 

I waited, but she said nothing more. “Why?”

“The Six of Cups is known for its meaning of reunion, similar ideas circling around it like nostalgia, childhood, memories, and innocence.”

“Yes but what does it  _ mean _ ?” I asked impatiently. 

She nodded. “I see something very close to your heart, something that smells like coffee, and ink, and motor oil- something you associate with Christmas. Something sinful and lustrous, but can stand the light of God. I see something that is kept close to your childhood, deals made in the dark of night, one in white bowls of high water and rushing red where scar still remain where piece of you leaked and escaped, and under the covers with a sleeping boy where innocence was granted instead of whisked away. And I see something you long for, you wait with folded hands clutching a letter carved in lines of your heart. But Dan Howell, you know what I’ve seen? Do you know what I know?” 

I stared, mouth gaping, and arms by my sides. I shook my head. 

“I saw a boy many years ago, in that very same chair, looking for someone with a heart like yours. And now you sit here seeking a heart like his. The two of you might have met, maybe in a passing pub, or on the streets knocking into one another, but how would I know,” she said with a coy smile. “I know in your future and his too, you’ll be worth something, that this beige delight you see everyday or that crimson night you like to dawdle in will be missing in the future. So I'll tell you exactly what I told him. ‘Look forward to it, Dan Howell’.”

She picked up my card from off the table, and handed it to me. I looked down at it blankly before taking it, and stuffing it into my back pocket, now nestled alongside the other.

I nodded at her, mumbled a ‘thanks’, and stumbled out of the stool and out of the tent.

 

***

 

In the fresh air, I felt like throwing up. I didn't bother painting a picture inside my head of the outside world, because it was spilling, everything a whirlwind as I escaped the tent, and rushed down and out the gates. 

I could feel the knife-like silence trapped in my throat, feeling bigger and sharper than ever as I ran back home, the two tarot cards like coals, burning a hole in my pants. However, my body didn’t seem to get the memo, because the closer I got to home, the slower my paces became. 

As my rational side came back into check, and the initial fear wore off I began to feel more like myself, more hollow. It had startled me, the intimate and close nature of the reading,  hadn’t expected that. I’d thought it was going to be something less eloquent, something… If I was truly honest with myself I’d expected it to be something less like Phil had described. Something less magic than what he had told me, when we’d been bare in bed his hands tracing my face. 

_ “She said, I was going to meet a energetic warrior. I guess she just didn’t know that adjective would be secluded to only the bedroom.”  _

I smiled at the memory, remembering how I’d walked him over the head with a pillow, the few feathers falling loose through the casing. 

I  _ missed _ him. I’d wanted it to seem less magical, maybe because I wanted to prove to myself that he wasn’t that amazing. That the amount in which I clung to his image and essence was to much for someone to hold to a person. That I was being clingy, and irrational, and stupid. 

I knew I was.

So why did it hurt  _ more _ ? 

I kicked my toe against the pavement, angry at myself for being so pathetic. I was supposed to be okay now, a person that didn't have to depend on another forever. Someone who could go on without feel like a giant, gaping hole had be torpedoed into my chest. Not a soppy romance character, who struggled with mental illness who now has to depend on another, while I wither away, and my partner becomes a brilliant shade of  annoyed and desperate, wanting to rid me any chance they get so they can spread their wings. 

I was supposed to be Phil’s glorious pink, bright and moving, rushing forward to meet him, to keep up with him. But I was grey, dragging him down into the depths of my waters, too high for the eyes to see anything but that; the disgusting grey. 

I walked slow, my colors around me bleeding into me another, shadowy and pain ridden, every step mattering less and less. 

Soon I was reaching my block, reaching my street, reaching neighboring house. I stood across my street, watching the few cars pass by, wondering what would happen, what it would feel like to be under something so heavy, so crushing.  _ Would it feel like my heart now? _ I wondered.

I looked at my house, my childhood house, the one I’d laughed in, cried in, talked in, not talked in. I looked at it’s tiny framed windows, and chipping white paint. I looked at the front door, red and roses, the fraying lawn making a dingy Christmas, the grass so dry it could burn up. I looked at it’s broken steps, and-

It couldn’t.

On the broken steps, sprawled and wonderful, everyone use how I remembered, twisted black tattoos and beautiful hair, the lilac just as described, it was- 

“Phil!” I shouted. 

He looked up from his perch on my rickety stairs, sunlight bursting out of him; his eyes and smile, yes  _ gods _ his mouth, all glowing in happy rays at me. 

“Dan!” He shouted back, standing and waving both arms over his head. 

And I was running to my Phil, beautiful Phil. I was pink, his glorious pink, bight and moving, rushing towards him, and into his arms. I crossed the street, and the pavement, and collided with his chest, warm and safe. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in, like pet nuzzling its owner. My hands clawed at his back, my legs twisting between his, like a restless dogs tail, our hearts thudding together. His hands were all over me, my neck, and hair, and spine, and dipping down into the hem of my jeans to that slim patch of skin that made my breath go funny. 

“I missed you  _ so fucking much _ , you jerk,” I whispered.

Phil’s breathing stopped for a half a second, at hearing the sound and desperation in my voice, before he laughed, deep and rumbling. 

“I’ve missed you so much, too.” 

I couldn’t express it, not in colors, or paintings, or words, or any kind of language imaginable. I couldn’t express the calm and serenity I felt standing there, finally not walking around as a half a pie but finally a whole again. It felt shameful to admit that, and I could feel my stomach curling. 

“Why, why did you leave me?” I asked, voice catching. “I was so alone, Phil, so alone. I wanted to be strong, like you, and independent, but- but I-” I choked out. 

Phil, as gentle to the day I met him, caressed my cheek, fingers warm against my cool skin, eyes tender. I noticed he was wearing a sweater, blue with white snowflakes, with the always consistent black jeans.

“Love,” he said, before he wrinkled his nose and I laughed. “Howell, I’m sorry, I know- I could have-”

I pressed my fingers to his lips, understanding his struggling apology, and knowing that he meant it. Maybe he too felt that no matter what, he couldn’t express this either, not in colors, or paintings, or words, or any kind of language imaginable. 

“I know you, Howell. I’ve sat with you for hours, talked about things people couldn't even dream of and things we probably don't even remember. And even though it’s been two years since I’ve seen your face, you eyes are the same; they carry all the little precious fragile things I want to cherish if you’ll let me. And I hope you will, because it might take a very long time.”

I stared at the wonder Phil Lester was, and had a brief, fleeting moment of panic, thinking this all wasn’t real. 

“You don’t know how beautiful your voice is to me,” Phil continued, leaning in close s his lips could paint up and down my neck, like brush strokes. “And please don't worry. I know you’re probably thinking something stupid about how you feel like you’re a burden to me or that you aren't able to be independent.” 

My breath stuttered. 

“You are aren’t you?” Phil sighed, pulling back to look into my overwhelmed eyes. I nodded.

“You’re still alive aren’t you? You haven't- haven't gone and offed yourself have you?”

I shook my head slowly. 

“Alright, well then that's a start. You don’t need to be perfect, Howell. I’m fucking in love with you, I know what I signed up for. You don’t have to try and go through life without touching mine, you can lean- fuck- you can fall completely on top of me if you’d like, it's not as if that has happen once or twice before anyways.” 

I laughed at his reference.

“Just listen, Howell. Everyone needs a little help, it’s what you do with it that matters; if you abuse it, or you learn with it. I’ll let you know if you're being a whiny brat, and overstepping your bounds. But I know you won't, because you're selfless. So stop worrying. You worrying makes me worry.” 

I nudged his head with my forehead. 

“When did you get so smart?” I asked suspiciously.

He laughed. “We did you become such a smart mouthed kid.”

I laughed as he kissed me, lips blue from the cold, mine red from being chapped, purple together. His mouth was warm, like the rest of him, causing my thighs to tremble, and little gasps to escape. 

He parted our mouths, our cheeks flushed from the cold and the intimacy. “It’s good that you still live here,” Phil said, chuckling. “It would have been kind of awkward to explain to the new house owners.  _ Sorry I’m waiting for my lover, it’s all very romantic so just go about your business. _ ” 

“I wanted to write to you more,” Phil said, and I’d noticed even with my ability of speech, we’d fallen back into our old pattern, Phil dominating the conversation. “I really tried, I’d sit down to write  _ something _ , but then all my thoughts would scatter.” 

_ Like butterflies, _ I thought. 

We didn’t say anything after that, just resting in our embrace, enjoying just being close- enjoying the evenly timed sounds of our breaths and matching heartbeats. 

“Did you see Ms. Kelly more when I was gone?” Phil asked. 

I nodded into his shoulder. “Yes-s,” I said, my voice still catching. It always would with Phil, because I didn’t have to try as hard for him to understand me. “But not for the reason you think.” 

Phil leaned back. “No?”

I smiled. “No, I went for speech therapy. I wanted… I wanted to impress you- I mean- surprise you.” I blushed, just like old times.

Phil smiled widely. “I’m so proud of you,  _ gods _ , I love you.” 

I blushed again, cheeks Phil’s friendly red color, the one he enjoyed so much. 

“We’re such saps, aren't we?” I asked.

I turned around in Phil's hold, back to his chest, and slipped my hands around his forearms, and wrapped them around my shoulders. 

Phil let out a breathy laugh, and smile against my ear, before kissing the shell of it and squeezing his arms tightly around me.

“Of course.” 

I looked out at the street again, trying to see if I could conjure up that emotion I’d been consumed by only moments ago, when I’d looked at the cars pasting and felt death creeping into every crook of my mind. 

I could. But it was okay. 

It was. 

I didn’t need to prove myself, not to Phil. He was that solid hand on my back, the one who would pull the plug for the drain, the one who would open the curtains and show me the sunny day. Even when he wasn’t by my side he would be an arms length away, in the parts of me I hated and the parts of me I loved. I could being in love with someone, have them love and love them back and not have it be like Aaron. Love didn’t rule my whole existence, just because I needed a little extra, but it didn’t mean it was crippling either. 

I couldn’t let go of Aaron because of the spoiled love, love that had been ruined, and had run an awful green. I’d thought I’d loved him because you could love someone despite their mistakes or flaws. However, I’d quickly realized that it wasn’t love; it was obsession. I was worried I would end up like him- vapid, dour, alone. But Phil-

When I’d told him the story of what had happened he hadn’t thought poorly of me.  _ I’m going to be better, be something they wish they could be. I’m not going to be a monster like them. _ I’d thought that’d been a little harsh, but it’s true. Everyone has a choice in how you turned out, even someone as depressed and anxiety ridden as me. The origin, no one has any choice in that matter, but from there on, you do. 

They day Phil left I made that choice; I wanted him. I did everything I could o be the best I could be, to impress him- speech therapy, getting through each day without him like a weight in my heart and a bathtub in my mind. It was exhausting. 

And today, even telling him, I’d expected to see the strain behind his eyes, of wanting me to want my own happiness- alongside his. And that's when I’d realized what love really is. Happiness in the same things; feeling happiness purely become the other does. Feeding off of one another's bight, delighted colored and making new ones. 

Blue to my red. 

Ich habe dich. 

I love you. 

I could live independent with a dependent heart.

Because love is happiness. 

And as Phil whispered his adventures away into my ears, as he held my hands to keep them warm, and chin dug ticklishly into my shoulder, I knew this was love.

“What are you thinking about?” Phil asked, noting I was distracted. 

“You,” I answered honestly. 

He laughed, breath and lips brushing my neck leaving a kiss, warm and wet and safe. “Well, you’ll be happy to hear that I’m not going anywhere.”

I smiled, my balloon head tugging at my string like neck. Phil turned me around in his arms, to plant a plush kiss on my lost lips. We tilted and sighed, hand wandering and grasping, heart shaking and quivering. This was love. 

“Do you want to go inside, because it’s fucking balls cold out here.” 

This time I barked out a laugh, rough as it sounded like an old tree, everything about the two of us old, and wrapped up in the past. 

“Just a few more minutes,” I said, finally giving in a nestling into his sweater. I was soft. “I want to stay like this for a bit more.”

Phil looked at my eyes, his expression on of fondness, like looking at his most prized possession, or his most cherished memory, or happiest moment. This was love. 

“Je t'aime à la lune et retour,” Phil whispered, and I smiled bigger than the entirety of everything.

Because no matter where he might go next, whether I would be with him or not, I would always remember this moment. Remember that where  _ I _ felt happiest, was safe and warm, inside Phil Lester’s arms. 

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW WEVE COME TO THE END YALL IM NOT READY ARE YOY?!? ~cries~ I really hope you guys enjoyed it. I plan (because of much demand) to write a short sequel and a short prequel to this book so stay tuned! Also I'll be writing another phan fic so you can check my account tomorrow and it should be up. It's called "incomplete kingdom". LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH AND THANK YOU FOR READING BYE -Eden


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